An Eccentric In The Making
by SapphiretheWhiteWolf
Summary: Yes, this if a FanFic of Tom Riddle, and No, I'm not going to put in a pun concerning his last name in the title. As for the story; it's about our favorite unloving Tom Riddle. No romance (at least for now). But, what if, perhaps, Tom had been introduced to magic before Dumbledore? Someone of the wizarding sort? Could it possibly change him forever? Begins at his orphanage days.
1. The Smell Of Rain And Fear

Wool's Orphanage was about as warm and loving as the stormy weather around it. Its walls, were grey and shadowy, like the clouds above it. The run down building kept the cold in, and the nonexistent warmth out. Soft sounds of rain could be heard throughout the hallow halls of the cramped orphanage, leaving echoes in their wake.

A boy of seven wondered how long the orphanage that held him would last; it seemed that every rain drop ate away a bit of concrete and brick as it fell. He hoped they would soon consume it all someday, the whole building and everyone inside it besides himself, then he would be free. Perhaps if everyone in this dreary place didn't think he was mad, he wouldn't loath it so much.

But they did think he was mad; and every soul in London seemed to think so as well. The matron, the children, everyone. He wasn't mad, he knew it. Even with common name like Tom, he knew he was different, yes, but definitely not _mad_.

He could do things, strange things; acts that make others uneasy in his presence. The other children called him a freak, but he preferred the term _eccentric _for his abilities. An eccentric, he thought, a brilliant eccentric in the making. He almost smiled at the thought. Almost.

He was brilliant, and hoped someday someone else would notice it. Of course they would, how could they not? He was going to leave this dingy place, meet many people, and do _great_ things when he became older. As for now, he sat on a rickety old stool deep in thought. The boy's clothes hung loose on his thin frame like a rabbit would if it were hanging from the rafters. At the thought of his clothes, Tom frowned. The older children in the orphanage were in charge of distributing clothes amongst the younger ones, since it was short on adult staff. He had made the mistake of making one of the laundry distributer's family photo disappear, and ever since been enemies with all of them for similar stunts.

As a result, every week he received a pair of mismatched clothes. Some days he got a pair of trousers that were three sizes too small and a shirt that could hold two Tom Riddles plus an Amy Benson. The next he might get that except with the bottoms too large and the top constricting his lungs so as to prevent him from breathing. But today however, they just threw him some loose trousers and a top. At least there was no mismatching the sizes. Tom feared that if he tampered with any of their other possessions, they might just not give him clothes at all. No matter, he could always just go after the younger children's things.

To be fair, he felt that nobody in this place should have any souvenirs of their family when he didn't. If they had such a wonderful family that was plastered onto some photo, why were they even here? Perhaps they had died, or some other reason that he didn't care to know. Tom knew one thing, if any of these children have anything of a family, then they should leave this godforsaken place to the ones that didn't.

A sudden roar of thunder erupted from the clouds, jolting him from the safety of his thoughts. He glanced out the window, where the rain distorted his view. His eyes drifted then, from the window with the useless view, to the windowsill below it. The objects on it twisted his thin lips into something of a smile. His treasures, he thought fondly. Other things he had taken from the other orphans. There were two rows of them. One row, the first, contained possessions stolen from those Tom hated. It was the row with the largest amount of things, so he put it up for display before the the others. The second row, however, had objects he had taken from people who were decent to him, kind even. It had little in its row. The first row of possessions were important and cherished items to those who he had taken them from. Unlike the first row, the second assortment of objects were things knew their owners wouldn't miss. Things like a loose button, or a hairpin, items that wouldn't particularly be noticed if they were gone.

Once more he slipped into contemplation, or sweet daydreaming if you will. His pale features begun to relax, and his breathing slowed into a steady one. He stayed this way for a while, enjoying the peace and serenity it offered. That is until, he was rudely interrupted by an older orphan.

"Aye, Riddle! Time for lunch!" She said while poking her head into Tom's room. Not many were brave enough to fully step inside, and this girl was no exception.

"Mm?" Tom answered. How long had he been thinking? His eyes lazily rolled over to where the elder girl's head was.

"It's meal time, you freak! Don't you do anything else but sit in this room alone? Of course you don't, you've got no friends." And with that, she quickly left. It was good that she did, because Tom knew that she had a certain prized trinket that she wouldn't like gone. Although, he just might take that later, the girl _was_ rather rude.

He slipped off the old wooden stool, carefully, so as to not splinter his behind, and strode to the meal serving area. Already he could smell something vile, and knew immediately that it was the delightful meal he was going to eat. Not that he had a choice anyway; if he is to stay alive long enough to do great things, he must make sacrifices. He looked up at the one who was giving out the food and was relieved. At least it was one of the adult staff members serving, Martha he remembered, and was comforted to know that she would not spit in his food.

The meal area was filled with children of all ages, all eating that same food, at the same time, with the same people. The younger ones seemed to enjoy their meal much more than their elders did-understandably they had tired of the same old thing as anyone would be by now. Tom causally walked up to the serving lady, and she in turn handed him a bowl of slightly warm soup and a slice of cold bread. As he looked at her, she half-heartedly smiled, and proceeded to hand another child a bowl. He went on his way, passing many tables full of hungry orphans until he got to the one empty table in the back. He sat down, and started his 'meal'. Tom was pleasantly surprised. The soup itself wasn't bad in taste, but it had an odor comparable to spoilt milk on a hot day. Nevertheless, he finished it, along with the bread, quickly. He tool a quick glance around the area of crowded children, then at his table. Ever since he could remember, he had always sat in that table. _Always_. The others had since compressed themselves together in the other remaining tables to keep the one in the back open. Some even took the floor when the orphanage was especially crowded. It was just as well, he didn't want to sit with any of them anyway.

He grabbed the empty bowl and placed it in the dish washing area. Several children waited until he had left before they put their dishes in. Tom, instead of usually retreating to the confines of his room, decided that he could do for some time outside the orphanage's walls. As he was walking, he looked out one of the windows, and saw that it was still raining. He stood there, deciding whether or not getting fresh air was worth wetting his clothes. Before he could decide however, three boys approached him.

"Hey, Tommy! Silvia said you were extremely rude to her when she saw you, what's up with that?"

Tom stayed silent. Billy Stubbs wasn't one for talking, he preferred punching. Another boy spoke too, Richard Crum was pretty much the same way.

"What? Don't speak to people do ya? You know, I once heard you chatting up a couple of garden snakes. You didn't even see me there! Mad, you are! Whispering mad little things to those creatures because you're a mad little boy."

Tom caught his breath. Richard had _seen_ him do that? Now everyone will be convinced that he's off his rocker, even the matron. She might even send him to one of those..._Institutions_. Places where mad people go, never to return.

"Whisperin' things to snakes! Now you've done it Tom! Mrs. Cole's gotta send you away once she hears this! Richard, why didn't you tell me this before? Coulda saved Silvia his rudeness and the rest of us him altogether." Billy said.

"I-uh, forgot...There was a.." Richard trailed off.

The boy didn't forget, he was afraid to say it alone. Not without Billy and another to protect him. Tom knew fear when he saw it. And this time, he didn't just see it, he could _smell_ it. He grinned. Billy turned and noticed the peculiar smile on Tom's lips.

"Why are you standin' there grinin' like a madman Tommy? Didn't ya hear? You're going straight to one of those asylums!"

Richard stared at his smile too. He said nothing, as did the other next to him. Billy didn't seem to notice.

"Actually, Billy, I think that for _everyone's_ best interests, you had better keep quiet." Tom said calmly.

Billy snickered. "And why would we do such a thing? As ya might be interested to know, I don't like you. Better yet, nobody else does either, they would be happy to see you gone."

His companions didn't chime in. They remained silent, staring at Tom.

"Oh, Billy, you oughtn't say such things about people. Because really, I am looking out for _your_ best interests, and those of the people around you too."

He flashed the trio with a toothy grin before continuing.

"You see, Billy, I would be most displeased if something, lets say, _unfortunate_ happens to you, Richard, Winston, or...your lovely little pet you seem to care a great deal for."

Billy gasped, "You wouldn't Riddle! You wouldn't even _dare_ touch Fluffy! If you did then I-"

"Oh, no, Billy, well I wouldn't have to _touch_ him. You know very well how strange I am. I can do _many_ things without even moving a finger, why would I bother _touching_ him."

The boys hardly breathed, let alone spoke. Tom took this as an opportunity to frighten them further.

"-So be good boys and keep your lips shut will you? I'd hate to see bad luck befall any of you, especially _you_ Billy."

"You-you're a little _freak_! A weirdo! Have fun playing in your little room alone little mad boy, because you couldn't get friends if you tried! And I hope Mrs. Cole finds out so that she can send you away from here, they shouldn't let crazy children mingle with the normal ones!"

And with that, the three of them left. Quickly, all while looking back at a still smiling Tom.

Once they were completely out of sight, Tom continued on his way. He once again looked out the window to find that the rain had stopped. He decided that some time outdoors was just what he needed. He quickly found the back door, which lead to a particular secluded part of the orphanage grounds. Once he was out, he breathed. He _really_ _breathed_. He was free of human nuisances-at least for a while-and could still smell the lingering scent of rain.

He liked the smell of rain as much as the smell of fear. Perhaps even more.

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A/N- Here is the first chapter. I do plan to upload more, but just out of curiosity, what to you think of it so far?


	2. A Friend Of The Serpent Sort

Tom inhaled the freshly washed air, and looked up at the sky. Cloudy. Almost no light shinning, and even less heat. Pity, now he would have to especially search for his serpentine companions himself. Usually, they found him, told him things, and occasionally slithered onto his arm when they wanted affection. Those were on sunny days, where the snakes were energized and playful with warmth.

Today, he would have to find their favorite holes and hope they might be there. There was one particular snake he was especially close to, a female, that liked to hang herself along the outside gates of the orphanage. Massak, her name was. Tom always told her how envious he was of her name, so unique, uncommon, so different.

She, of course, was flattered, and was always hungry for compliments. Massak, like all serpents, was a vain creature, but for good reason. Tom had never seen a snake so beautiful. She, unlike most snakes, was an albino. Her colors were the paler versions of all the other snakes' patterns who lived on the orphanage grounds. Her voice was soothing and delightful, much unlike the raspy hisses of her male counter parts. Tom sometimes imagined that if he had a mum, she would sound something like Massak.

He walked along the soggy dirt; for it was still wet from the rain, and began to search for the numerous holes he knew existed in the ground. First, he came upon a large rock and turned it over to find a hole hiding beneath it. Tom called out to it.

_ "Hello? Is anyone in there?"_

Silence greeted him coldly.

_"Is this hole taken?"_ He called again. Just to make sure.

He waited a while, staring into It. He really hoped someone would respond to his call. Tom waited ten minutes more. Finally, a raspy answer came from the dark hole.

_ "Whhhat do you want boy?"_

The snake didn't seem pleased. The deepness in its voice told him it was a male.

_"I would like to speak to you._" Tom said.

_"Whhhy? Don't you ssssee how c-cold it isss boy? We serpentsss don't like it. Go away child. Go to your own kind to chatter."_

_"But-but, you don't understand, my own kind doesn't like me either, I can't-"_

The snake hastily cut him off._ "That isss not my fault that they don't like you! GO AWAY! You are disssturbing me."_

Tom sulked. He could deal with other humans rejecting him; for they were too stupid to know what they were loosing, but snakes too? They had _always_ been there for him when his own kind failed to. Perhaps it was this weather that made them especially irritable. Yes, yes, that must be it. There was nothing wrong with _him_, just the weather. And so, Tom left the cranky snake to its hole. Hopefully as the day went on it would become warmer. He thought about searching for others, but thought better of it when he realized that they would most likely turn him away as well.

He slowly started toward a tree stump nearby, walking there silently apart from the sound of gushing mud beneath his feat. Mrs. Cole would not be pleased with the condition of his shoes. It was just as well; the matron was displeased with Tom's very existence, and no amount of clean clothes would change that. Once he got to the stump, he flopped down upon it, and propped his head on his fist which was resting on his knee. He sighed, and wondered if he should even bother returning to his room. He knew he wasn't missed, so why bother? The last meal of the day wasn't for a few more hours, so he wouldn't have to worry about missing it.

_"Defeated already Tom? You ssshouldn't look to sssullen, I don't like it."_ A smooth voice came from behind. He abruptly turned around to see a pale snake with strikingly red eyes slithering up to him. He recognized the serpent immediately.

_"Massak!" _He called. The one snake he really wanted to see flickered her tongue out once she had gotten close to his skin. His arm itched to have her scaly body curl around it. He held it out for her, and she took to it happily. Once she was wrapped around his skinny limb, a certain warmness engulfed him. For a cold-blooded creature, she sure brought warmth to his skin. They stayed that way for a while, content with each other's company, before the serpent spoke.

_"I can sssmell it when you're woeful Tom. It bothersss me."_

Tom looked back at the snake whose head was slightly raised from her position on his arm. If snakes were able to show emotions on their face, then the one on Massak's would be a concerned one. But they couldn't, and her expression was the same each time he saw her. Her glassy lidless eyes remained open, as they always have, and her forked tongue continued to flicker in and out. She was waiting for his response.

Before he answered, he asked himself the same question. Why _was_ he unhappy? Just because he was rejected by a simple angry snake before? His mind flashed back to countless conversations he had had with other orphans. Each one of them detested him. Some said it outright, others hid their insults cleverly beneath a routine of exchanged words. Did he really care about being excluded by them? He really didn't know, and decided to ask Massak what she thought about it.

_"Of courssse you care about being pushed away. Humansss are ssocial creaturesss, they like being around othersss_." She offered. She seemed so sure of human behavior, he must remember later to ask her how old she was, as it seemed that she knew a lot.

Perhaps he did care, even if it was just a little bit. _But they didn't;_ they didn't care about him. Not the children, the matron, or even the friendly looking serving lady he saw today. No one. He was sure Martha was paid to put on that almost-caring smile; it wasn't for him. His mood darkened, as if his own personal rain cloud were upon him now. Massak's body tightened its grip around his arm, and her head lifted up so as to look him in the eyes.

_"There it isss! There's that ssmell again! Tom! Sstop it!" _

Tom was jolted into reality by the snake's pleading. He said nothing still, unsure of how to respond.

_"Tom! Thisss ssmell! It offendss my tongue and my nostrilsss! You reek of it!" _She exclaimed.

Tom raised his eyebrows at that. Did she say 'tongue'? How could his gloomy scent offend her tongue? He asked her what she meant.

_"Don't you know? Ssnakes ssmell with their tongue mostly. The nostrilsss help too."_

Massak whipped her head back and forth, tongue flickering wildly now, as if really fending off the great stench of unhappiness. He laughed at that. She was a dramatic one.

_"You can smell my glumness with your tongue, you say?"_ He asked, amused.

She stopped her thrashing and said sensibly, _"Didn't we jusst establish that Tom?" _

He smiled then. Such wit for a snake. But then be began to consider. Was she _just_ a snake? Wasn't she anything else to him? Tom was sure there was a word for it, though it never rolled off his own tongue.

Then, as if to remind him, a few memories surfaced. Memories of fellow children he had conversed with or overhear by chance._ "-Of course you don't, you've got no friends!" "Have fun playing in your room alone...couldn't get friends if you tried!" "What a creep. Amy, don't go around with the likes of him, he's weird, that's why he's always alone. You could do better..."_ Tom shook his head, a futile attempt to be rid of such unpleasantness. As if on cue with his surge of despair, Massak's hold tightened.

_"The ssstench! What isss playing in that large head of yourss Tom?"_ She rasped. His glumness was clearly disturbing her.

Tom looked at her. Her pale features and tight body coil around his arm made his own soften.

_"...Massak?" _He asked, almost timidly.

_"Yes? Come on now, sspit it out now. I might be ssmothered in your ssorrow ssoon, I can hardly breathe."_

_"Are we friends?" _He asked quietly. The snake took a long moment to reply. He feared her answer, and expected it to be a quick 'no'. Instead, she responded with a very confused tone in her silky smooth voice.

_"Friendsss? I don't know, Tom. A 'friend' isss a relatively human term for a certain type of 'relationsship'. It really dependsss, Tom. Could you explain to me what humansss consssider a 'friend'?"_

Could he explain it? He wondered the same thing. He could _try_, at the very least.

_"Well, it's kind of like, um..." He trailed off. He looked into his companion's red glazed eyes, almost eager looking, and continued. _

_"Two...people-or any other species really- who...care about one another. And...enjoy each other's company." _He finished. Tom was actually quite surprised he even knew the definition of such a word, seeing as he never used it himself. Massak seemed to ponder that before answering.

_"If that isss the definition of a 'friend', then, yess Tom, we are friendsss."_

His mouth twitched, and his lips curled. Tom liked to think of it as a 'smile', but others might see it as something in between. It was not the usual toothy smirk he shot at others to frighten them. It was caused by happiness. He had a friend. Gladdened by this revelation, he decided to ask her a question that had been itching him for a while now.

_"Massak? Where did you get your name? It's so beautiful. Did your mum and dad give it to you?" _He asked.

_"Mum and dad? I don't...-Ah! I underssstand now. 'Mum and dad' iss human for mother and ssire, yesss? If it isss, then no. My mother nor sssire gave me or my ssiblingss a name. They had left once we were laid I sssupose."_

_"Then...did you name yourself then?"_ He asked. He and Massak were more similar than he thought.

_"No, Tom. Who hass the time to name themselvess? Not usss. We sserpents get our namesss by the thingss we accomplissh in life. In a way, we are named by otherss, by what we do with ourselvesss. I have done many thingsss, but I am mosst known for my love of the cold. My name, you ssssee, Massak, meanss ssnow."_

Tom blinked. Of course. While all other snakes were grumpily hiding in their holes, Massak happily slithered towards him to celebrate the frost creeping up nearby windows. She hung herself high on the hard metal gates of the orphanage, even though it must be awfully chilled. Ironic, that he too, enjoyed the cold. The matron said he was born in the winter, and he wondered if that counted for anything.

_"Oh...You should be prouder of such a name Massak. I, have such a boring common one. I wasn't laid as an egg, but my mother and sire still left me. With such used up title too."_ He said dishearteningly, almost to himself rather than to her.

_"For what it'ss worth, I haven't met any of my kind with your title."_ She said. Tom wasn't sure what she meant by it, but he guessed it was some kind of comfort.

_"Of course you haven't; it's a rather human name for the most part, and I don't know if it means anything special like your name does. Probably not, for so many have it these days it wouldn't even matter anymore."_ He said.

_"Oh there it iss, that ssmell I loath again, don't you ssmell it too Tom? It'ss awful. Perhapss you may have a common human boy name, but you are in no way common yourself. You're like me Tom, you're different." _Massak hissed.

Looking at the white albino snake curled around his arm, he wondered how true her words really were.

_"I know."_ He whispered.

_"But do you really, Tom? I think not. I ssaw you look at my sscales, and if that iss what you think makess me different, then you're wrong. If you knew how different you really are, you would confesss it proudly to everyone."_ She replied.

He was confused, dumbfounded even, that she would tell him to be proud to be a freak. As for proclaiming it to the world, well, didn't everyone already know of his freakishness? Why would he shout such things when all they have earned him so far is exclusion and quizzical looks from others around him?

_"Wha-what do you mean Massak? I can't just go shouting such things in the busiest part of London, they already think I'm mad..."_ He murmured.

_"Tom, I didn't mean-wait. Tom. We musst sspeak later. There isss a muggle boy watching uss from a window. Meet me in Diagon Alley tomorrow."_ The serpent swiftly untangled herself from his arm and was sliding her slender body away from him.

_"WHAT? Who? Muggle? Wait Massak! What is this 'Diagon Alley'? I have never heard of it!"_ He cried after her as he stood up.

The snake stopped. Tom was relieved, because she was moving so fast he didn't think she ever would. Massak turned to look at him and said,_ "Ah, right. Thisss iss a muggle orphanage, isn't it? Never mind then, Tom. Meet me on the back gatess of thiss place, I will take you to it mysself."_ And with that, she quickly slithered away into a nearby hole. Tom knew it wouldn't be long before he found her hanging along the orphanage gates the next day.

Within a few moments, he found himself standing next to an old tree stump completely alone in the world once again. _Muggle boy watching uss..._ His eyes quickly darted to the only window that had a view of this part of the grounds. The window was broken a year earlier, and Mrs. Cole had taken out the glass and replaced it with a piece of cardboard. The orphanage had been rather low on funds lately. It was gone now. Both the cardboard and the 'muggle boy' were gone. 'Muggle'...Tom would have to ask Massak what that meant later.

And so, he dusted himself off, kicked his feet against the stump so as to reduce the amount of mud he tracked in, and strode into the building using the same back door he used to come out. He strode the hallways, quietly, and swiftly too. Tom figured he would spend the rest of the day after supper in his room, by himself, as always. As he was walking, he decided he could amuse himself by counting how many steps he took when going to his room. He started counting, first whispering the numbers, then saying them in an almost sing-song kind of way as he grew more comfortable. That is until, he realized that he had been counting two pairs of quiet feet, and not one.

He stopped, and turned around, abruptly. He was halfway surprised to find that the 'muggle boy' Massak was talking about was indeed, Richard Crum. He should have known; the boy had already seen him do that once, hadn't he? The other boy looked as though he had seen a ghost. Such an annoying pest.

"You know Richard, it's _very_ impolite to spy on others." He started calmly.

"Y-you did it again! I saw you! Hissing this and that to the weird looking creature, it was disgusting!" Richard spat.

"Creature? Weird looking? Oh, no, Richard, she was just _different_ from other snakes." Tom corrected him.

"She? She? Oh, what ever. How can you even tell theses stupid things? It was a disgusting looking creature, even for a _snake_." He grumbled.

"Couldn't you tell from her voice that she was female? You _were _listening in weren't you? And for the last time Crum, she is _not_ disgusting. You still fail to understand that. I think Massak is beautiful." Tom said slow and calmly, as if explaining something to a particularly slow child.

"Her voice!? It doesn't have a voice Tom! It hisses. That's all it does! 'Hiss hiss hiss'! That's what I heard when I was listening. And you, you were hissing right back! Madder than most of the lunatics St. Charles! I'm surprised you're so calm, because your going straight to one of those places if I tell!" Richard nearly shouted.

At the mention of one of the asylums near the orphanage, Tom shuddered. However he then quickly regained his usual calm composure.

"Oh, I very could if you did tell, Richard. But you _won't_." He told the other boy.

"Oh yeah?" Richard raised an eyebrow as he asked. It sounded like more of a challenge than a question. Nevertheless, Tom felt compelled to answer it.

"Yes, actually. Come now Crum, don't play games you know you can't win. You won't speak a word, to anyone, and you know it. You have already lost." He informed Richard.

The other boy's face twisted up into an expression Tom could not identify. His complexion grew pink and began to evolve into a more reddish hue. Tom thought the boy might explode just about then. But instead, he left him, without another word, for he knew he had already lost the argument since the first word he spoke. That was at least, what Tom Marvolo Riddle liked to believe.

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A\N- here is the second chapter! I will be posting the third soon. Please review if you have any comments, concerns, ect. As always, thanks for reading.


	3. An Unpleasant Cup Of Tea

Tom Riddle awoke from his thin cot with an energized, even exciting feeling running through his body. His dark eyes swept over to the window and saw that the sun was just rising, which, meant it was early. It was very uncommon for Tom to be up at such hours, for he almost never woke up with such willful motivation to make him do so. He thought it strange that he was somehow roused from his sleep by this odd feeling. A feeling almost nonexistent in his lifetime, but one he felt at this very moment none the less. It was a strange, odd, and an _exciting_ feeling he realized.

But just what was it that was making him feel so _excited_? Tom shook his head to shake away the small amount of grogginess that was still lingering in him. Perhaps something that had happened yesterday? It had to be something _big_, something that would extremely _interest_ him if the feeling carried on to the next morning. But what? He doubted the supper he had yesterday counted for anything, as it was quite ordinary. Tom decided to relay what he remembered from the day before, so as to catch anything important that he seemed to be forgetting.

He started from the moment he stepped outside the orphanage walls. First, he spoke to an unfriendly snake who ordered him away saying that he was disturbing the other. Unfriendly indeed! Next, he sat upon a stump, crestfallen as ever, only to be approached by his favorite serpentine companion. Rather than considering her a mere 'companion', Tom decided he would from now on refer to her as his _friend_. After being comforted by his newfound _friend_, he remembered that she hissed something in alarm and fled. What was it again? He searched his mind for the missing piece of information he was looking for.

She said something, something strange, about a 'muggle' boy watching and to meet her at a 'Diagon Alley'. Richard. Richard was the boy who was watching them. Tom suddenly remembered. He remembered that when he cried after her in confusion, she said the word 'muggle' again to describe the orphanage and instructed him to meet her at the back gates instead. He also recalled how she would take him to this 'Diagon Alley' herself then fled, and his conversation with Crum that occurred a little later.

Was this why he was so excited? Because Massak promised to take him to a place he had never heard of? Being a slippery ever-curious boy, Tom easily managed his way out of the gates, and explored London in his spare time. He had yet to stumble into a place called 'Diagon Alley'. She told him to meet her at the back gates, where he assumed she would be hung along them as usual. So, he decided that he was going to do just that.

Tom abruptly hopped out of his bed and slipped into his shoes. The bottom half was still crusted with the mud he had picked up the day before. He stretched his limbs for a moment or two, and headed out for the door that lead to the secluded part of the grounds, as the back gates were located not far from there. His mind wondered if anyone would notice him. Probably not, as breakfast didn't start until at least eight, and Tom guessed that it was currently around six-thirty. He had time.

He walked down the corridors quickly, and desperately tried to quiet his dirt caked footsteps. As he spotted no activity throughout the building, his previously tense muscles began to relax a bit. He became more confident, and strode even faster to the door he was seeking. Eventually, he got to it, and a breath of relief escaped him. However, for some odd reason, he felt accompanied. Watched even, but not quite so. He turned his head to his left, and saw nothing but an empty hallway. Tom then looked towards his right, and again, saw an what appeared to be the exact same thing. However, Tom seemed to realize something as he stared. The right corridor held a certain window, that was formally covered with cardboard, that hung on its walls. Richard Crum had been watching him from that very window earlier.

Out of sudden intense paranoia, Tom decided that since it was a rather warm morning, Massak could be comfortable enough to wait a moment longer. He advanced to where he knew the window was, half expecting a certain boy to be peering out of it. When he came upon it, he was actually quite surprised. He stared at the sleeping form of none other than the bothersome Richard Crum. Hadn't he returned to his own room after their little chat yesterday? Tom was almost certain he did. He was about to scrape the remaining dirt crust off his shoes with the boy's clothing and wake him up while doing it, but had second thoughts. Should he really take the chance of waking the boy? Obviously he planed to spy on him again. Perhaps he could slide himself out the door without Richard noticing...

Tom backpedaled slowly, now regretting even approaching the boy. He then turned his back to him, and quietly walked back to the door as swiftly as his crusted shoes would allow. Then, he heard it. It could have been a whisper, but Tom thought it something of a mumble.

"Wher' you goin' Riddle...?" The boy murmured again, clearer. He was still curled up beside the window on the floor as he spoke.

Tom stopped. Should he really acknowledge Richard now? He figured he could just wander off with the other boy falling quickly asleep thereafter. Perhaps he wouldn't remember their encounter when he woke up? Yes, yes, he must leave Richard to his grumblings and hope he slips back into his slumber. Without looking back at him once, Tom continued on his way. Unfortunately, the other boy found the back of Tom's head as a source of motivation to call after him.

"Tom! Are ya goin' to hiss to dat snake again?" He asked in broken English, due to his terrible sleepiness.

Tom did not answer, and kept walking.

"Freak, I'm talkin' to ya! Don't turn yer back on meh Riddle!" The boy spoke louder now, but his words was still in fragments. He then tried to get up, but he did so slowly.

Tom decided that he must intervene. Instead of taunting him with his frightening words, he tried something else. From past experiences with his abilities, Tom had a good sense of how to control and manipulate others with it. He remembered how he could influence people by concentrated will, and make animals subservient to him on a whim. Tom stopped, suddenly, and stared hard into his eyes. At first, Richard was shocked by the seriousness in Tom's gaze, but slowly began to relax. Tom concentrated, thought about sleep, and commanded that the mind of boy become drowsy within the following moments.

They remained there for a minute or two, before Richard's eyes signaled defeat by sliding shut. The boy then dropped from his position of just-about-to -stand-up and lay on the floor, silent except for quiet snores in his wake.

Tom breathed a sigh of relief, and for some reason wished to join him. In his own cot of course, but that little trick had taken a good deal of energy from him. But it didn't matter how tired he was now, he promised Massak that he would meet her at the gates. And so, he slipped out the back door, and headed towards his destination.

As he walked, he saw a good amount of snakes moving about; hunting, conversing, among other serpentine activities. He watched his feet carefully to prevent any accidental steps that might crash upon one of their bodies. Tom figured that since it was a rather warm morning, it was perfectly reasonable that they were so active. He was tempted to converse with some of them, but decided otherwise when he remembered Massak. Several snakes recognized him and called out to him, to which Tom responded to quick and politely while still walking.

Finally, he came upon the back gates of the orphanage, and was very surprised not to see a white snake curled around them. His eyes wandered from the top of the metal gates to the ground below it, and still, saw nothing. Worried, he called out to her.

_"Massak! Massak, it's me, Tom. Where are you?"_

He didn't receive an answer, and tried calling her out several times more after that. Still, nothing. However, a nearby corn snake sensed his despair, it seemed.

_"Whhat isss the matter, human? You ssmell upsset."_ The snake said as it slid over to him.

_"Err..I am sorry, but what is your name?"_ Tom asked. It was very unusual that a stranger snake spoke to him, as he had never seen this one before. It was only polite to know its name.

_"Ahhh, yess, my name. It is Erossek. But most refer to mysself as Eros. Feel free to do sso asss well, human." _It replied.

_"Eros..."_ He pondered the name. _"What does it mean?"_ Tom asked the friendly snake.

_"My name meanss 'love', human. Otherss named me thisss asss I wass thought to be very kind and loving."_ Erossek said.

_"Mmm...Yes that makes sense."_ Tom thought and said it out loud.

_"What isss bothering you human, perhapss I can help?"_ The corn snake asked.

_"Huh? Oh, yes, that. You see, I was supposed to meet my...'friend', Massak here, at the gates, but she is not here. Do you perhaps know where I might find her?"_ Tom asked the serpent.

_"Massak...cold...sssnow. Ah, yes, Massak! The one who thrives in snow! Sstrange, iss't it, that sshe lovess ssnow? I think it isss. Even stranger when looking upon her white ssscaled patterns on her body. Asss for her whereaboutss, well, I wouldn't know. Sshe is a sssecretive one."_ Erossek answered.

Tom found it useless to continue the conversation with the chatty snake further, since it had no information of use. He then sent a polite goodbye to the snake, and sent it on its way. He then waited fifteen minutes more at the gates, hoping his friend would arrive soon. As each minute passed, his mood soured. This seemed to upset the other snakes; as they started avoiding him as his mood darkened, but none tried to console him. As he was about to admit defeat by walking over and sulking on the nearby tree stump, Tom decided he had a better idea.

Perhaps this 'Diagon Alley' place was somewhere hidden in London? If it was indeed an 'Alley', then that would explain why he had never explored it before. Tom knew very well that wandering among small alleys was dangerous for young boys; even as special and different as himself. He knew that lawbreakers, hoodlums, drug addicts, and child molesters most likely roamed there. Needless to say, Tom avoided such places that put that amount of danger on his own life-one that he highly treasured. However, the few alleys he had visited, were just...alleys. Nothing special. There were no shops, houses, or anything worth going for. He wondered why Massak was so devoted to take him to such a place. Maybe she was waiting for him there, somewhere in London? He must find out.

With that in mind, Tom easily slipped out of the orphanage through a gap between two of the back gates. Being so thin, this was done quite easily. He made his way toward the middle of London itself. He figured it was only logical that this 'Diagon Alley' Massak spoke of should be in London _somewhere_. As he walked though the crowds of people, he took the time to find out what town he was in. He was currently in the town of Birmingham. He wasn't sure if it was the very center of London itself; but it was a start.

Before he poked his head into each and every hooligan invested alley in the place, Tom decided to sight see a bit. When he wandered in other parts of London, he would always gaze longingly through shop windows. As of now, he had his eyes set on an inviting scented sweet shop, with its door swung open to let the smell of sweets fill its nearby streets with delight. Tom, being allured by the scent and an open door, slowly approached the building. Its sign read 'Cadbury'. The smell of chocolate suddenly seized his mind, and dragged him by his nostrils into the shop.

Tom strode in fast and carelessly, at the mercy of the captivating scent of sweets. He was walking so fast he knocked a sitting man's tea over with his elbow. The gentleman shrieked as the hot tea singed his chest. The man, who was very well dressed, was not pleased. Neither were the two elderly people who were sitting next to him, although they seemed more shocked than angry.

"Argh! Hot! Hot! Someone, get me something to clean myself...yes, thank you.._and seize that child!"_ The man commanded. As if every person was under his control, they obliged wordlessly. Many hands grabbed at him unsuccessfully, and Tom decided to get out of this place as fast as he could.

As he tried to flee, Tom felt his arm being yanked behind him, pulling him back to the scene of the crime. An unknown man pulled him back into the shop, and brought him to face the man whose tea was all over his clothes.

"Here-here he is Mister Riddle sir, I-I am s-so ss-sorry! You won't pay a thing for your previous drink... Once more, terribly, terribly sorry sir." Tom glared at the man that held his arm and saw a name tag pinned on his shirt. He figured that the man worked here. He shot another glare at the man who commanded Tom before him, and was mildly surprised to see his hostile look returned by the man. The 'Mister Riddle' bent a little to meet his eyes.

"Where are your parents child!" He hissed. His mouth twitched unattractively.

Tom decided that he might as well return the man's politeness. "None of your business!" He spat. Usually he was calm when speaking to difficult people, but something about this man irritated Tom intensely.

Tom shrieked quietly when the one handed grip on his arm changed into a two handed one on his shoulders and very close to his neck... He shot a fierce glare at the worker causing the pain, but inside felt utterly helpless. The worker remained indifferent to his condition, and seemed to care only for the welfare of dear 'Mister Riddle'. The impatient 'Riddle' seemed to grow redder in the face by the second.

"Such rudeness! I ask you again, 'where are your parents?!" The man nearly shouted.

As if knowing that Tom's answer was going to be a snide, sarcastic one, the worker tightened his grip and moved it from his shoulders to his neck. Once both of his hands were firmly wrapped around it, he squeezed. As he squeezed, the worker hissed something into Tom's ear.

_"Don't...be...a...smart arse! Tell...him...what...he...wants...to...know!" _

Tom would have been almost glad to answer any further questions, but as his breathing was constricted, the world around him began to blur. His eyes began to roll carelessly, and his legs nearly turned to jelly. He heard an old woman scream.

"Stop it, Hershel! He's just a child! You're _going to kill him!" _

And with that, he felt his body drop from the worker's grasp, and fall to the floor. He was then lifted by someone unseen and stuffed into a nearby booth. He gasped louder that he would have liked to normally, but as the air was reuniting with his lungs, he didn't seem to care. He wheezed it in like his life depended on it; and maybe it had.

"So _this_ is how I can expect your customers to act, Hershel? This is how you run a shop! I could very well cut all loan money my family have given you and your shop for this incident!" The nasty man threatened.

Tom couldn't care less. He was too focused on breathing still. Suddenly, an old lady like perfume entered his nose. He looked up to see the same old woman who was with the 'Mister Riddle' peering at him closely. Her face was wide, and her hair was speckled with grey. Her eyes were chocolate brown, much like his own. An equally old man stood in the background, clearly disturbed by the ruckus that occurred. As the old woman sat there, the worker and the disgruntled man conversed. Mostly the speaking was on the disgruntled man's part, and the other pathetically whimpered out apologies.

"Don't you have any parents, love?" She almost whispered. It was the old woman across from him. He met her eyes, and proceeded to answer her question. She had after all, saved his life.

"Err...No...I-I don't. Well, I really don't know. They say my mum is dead... But I never..." He rasped. He said no more.

Though Tom did not realize it, he had caught the attention of the man with spilt tea on his clothes once again. The man was intently listening now.

"And, what is your name, dear boy?" She asked him. More confidently now.

"T-Tom. Tom Riddle...ma'am..." Tom answered. He was suddenly aware of how much power these people seemed to have. Control. He hoped to have it someday too.

The old lady gasped. And the old man standing in the back raised his snowy eyebrows slightly. The worker said nothing, with eyes desperately still pleading with the prestigious 'Mister Riddle'. The nasty tempered man himself looked almost speechless.

"No..." He whispered. "It can't be! You, a boy! She stole my name...gave it to you..." He muttered. His face grew white.

Tom was most definitely confused. Indeed, they seemed to share the surname of 'Riddle', which Tom supposed was a wild coincidence. He sincerely hoped it was.

"Mother, Father, we must leave. Hershel, keep the money. We must leave immediately." Said the stone-faced Mister Riddle.

The salt haired old man came forward, and followed his son out. The old woman was still there.

"Where do you live Tom?" She asked quickly while gathering her purse.

"Ummm... An orphanage.." He responded.

She clucked her tongue and grabbed for his shirt. Thankfully, she only pinched the small pocket on it, which had 'Wool's Orphanage' sewed right into it. She pulled it closer for a better look.

"Ah, Wool's... A rather dingy place. You are such a thin boy, Tom, we must work on that later the next time me meet." She looked him over once more, as if just to confirm something, smiled, and left. Presumably after her husband and son.

* * *

A/N -here is the third! Yes, he will still meet Massak, but that is for later. what do you think? I am always open to criticism. Also, T.R. Sr will appear in future chapters.


	4. No lemon Drops, Please

Tom was silent, and was too immersed in his thoughts to even notice the stares he was receiving from almost every soul in the shop. The tight gripped worker merely brushed off his uniform and returned back to his register. He was obviously relieved that the boy had not caused him financial loss and happily left the shell-shocked child scrunched up in a booth to his own devices. The other occupants however quickly dispersed while giving the oblivious boy quizzical looks as they left.

One man who was leaving put a hand on his sore shoulder and whispered wisely,"Look kid, I don't know what that old _bat_ wanted with you, but I'd reckon that you stay away from their type. Snobbish like. They say the Riddles are the meanest bunch in Little Hangleton, but I think they're the nastiest pigs anywhere you look. Just...stay away from the likes of them, will you boy?"

Tom nodded solemnly, dimly aware of what the man just told him. He was too focused on his own mind's ramblings that he didn't have time for anyone else's right now.

The man removed his hand from Tom's shoulder, replied with a simple 'Hmph', and was off.

Soon, Tom was the only occupant in the shop. Its smell was no longer inviting, but smothering. He blinked a few times, and glanced at the worker for a moment. The man stared right back.

"If you're not going to buy something, boy, I highly suggest you just_ get out_." The worker said savagely.

Tom knew he had not a pound on him. Not that he would spend any sort of money in this shop anyway. However, he did agree with the man about the suggestion of leaving. Indeed, all this commotion was awfully stressful. He just wanted to go home, or the orphanage at the very least.

And so, Tom slid off the polished booth, and into the crowds of London. The current town he was in wasn't particularly far from Wool's, and Tom wondered how long it would take him to get there. He also wondered what time it was...

He frowned, and hoped he didn't miss breakfast. A soft growl from his stomach reminded him to hurry back. The sun was no longer just rising, and Tom didn't have the slightest idea to determine the current time. He could very easily distinguish between dusk, night, morning, and early morning; but after that, the sky gave no other clues. He supposed that he could ask a gentleman for a look at a timepiece, seeing as he had no other means of telling if it was eight yet.

He scoured the bustling crowd for someone who might own one, still standing outside the sweet shop, but out of the grasp of its open door and tight gripped employee. Tom could still feel the man's stare, and it itched. After his eyes grazed over the crowd, he spotted an older man hobbling along. He had a long face and the beginnings of a thick beard. However, his head wasn't the thing that caught Tom's attention. It was the gentleman's _clothes_ that really flashed in his eyes. The man sported long bright purple robes instead of sensible brown trousers and a shirt, and surprisingly wore it well. He still thought the outfit made the gentleman comparable to a wine grape, but it didn't matter as long as he had the time. The man then, turned Tom's way.

His weary blue eyes met his own, and wandered off. Tom was surprised the he even noticed the man's eyes at all with the purple robes stealing his stare. Tom stood, and marveled how much faster the elder gentleman's pace had quickened. As he became engrossed in the richness of purple the man wore, Tom almost missed him go by. A quick slight breeze dragged him back to reality. Alarmed by how swiftly the man entered the shop, Tom spoke.

"Hello? Sir! Sorry to bother you... But do you have a timepiece I could look at..?" He barked in a haste.

The strange sir was picking through a container of yellow hard candies and dropping them in a plastic bag. The unfriendly worker glared at him upon reentering.

"A timepiece, boy? What do you mean?" He asked Tom, still plucking sweets from the container.

"A timepiece sir, you know, like a pocket watch, perhaps? If I could just get one look Sir I-" Tom started.

"Oh yes! A timepiece. You wish to know the time? You should have just said so. Well, I have no 'timepiece', but I know it must be around seven-forty or so." The man responded casually.

Tom's eyes widened in hearing that. The older man turned to him, now fully acknowledging Tom's existence. He looked perplexed.

"Why, boy? Do you have somewhere to be?" He asked.

"Actually, he does. _Out of my shop_." The worker cut in and hissed.

Tom ignored his comment, even though it was very true. Would he make it to Wool's on time? Perhaps if he ran all the way there... No. Tom wasn't the athletic type, and was aware of the fact at age five. He would try to outrun his enemies, but they would always catch him. The wrinkled grape turned to the worker now.

"Why must he leave?" The old man asked, almost innocently.

"Causes problems, he does. Nearly cost me a lot of mone-Mhmmph funding. The boy almost lost me and my shop funding. Oh, but you, please do carry on sir." The worker said. He tried not to make himself look greedy in front of the customer who was filling his bag to the brim with yellow sugared sweets, it wouldn't be good for business.

"No..." Tom murmured. "It's too late..."

The old man turned to him. "Too late? Too late for what, my boy?"

Tom shrugged. What did this rich looking gentleman care if he didn't have breakfast? The question was most likely asked out of pure politeness. He doubted the man actually cared. He decided to return the polite question with a meaningless polite answer. However, it looked like the man had money. And if the man had money, Tom thought perhaps he could spare a little something for a handsome orphan like himself. Pity and money was an excellent combination when you're an unfortunate boy looking for someone to manipulate.

He figured that if he chose his words wisely, the old geezer might throw him some charity.

"Oh nothing, sir. I-I just have to get back to the orphanage, you see, breakfast starts at eight...it's usually nothing much...but still, it's food." Tom said solemnly. As if on cue, his stomach gave a loud grumble and Tom tried hard not to smile. Even the hard faced worker's glare began to soften. He couldn't help thinking that this might just work.

"An orphanage? You've got no parents then? If you're an orphan, what are you doing outside the _orphanage_? Not causing trouble in London, I hope." The wrinkled wine grape retorted. His face reeked of suspicion and amusement.

Tom's eyes narrowed slightly. He wasn't going to lose his composure. Usually his charm and wit made others putty in his hand. Free to do what ever he wanted with them, but this man, was more difficult then he suspected. No, matter he thought, just another challenge then. Tom Riddle liked challenges.

"Sir, I was fleeing. The orphanage I go to has bullies, and the matron despises me. Others shun me, some beat me. I slip into London to escape for a while..." He continued. Although his intent was dishonest, his words were true.

"Matron and all the children despise you, boy? Why?" The old man asked. He then continued to pluck more yellow candies from the bin. Tom wondered why he felt the need to hoard such candies, as he considered them to be bittersweet. Tom just liked sweet candies. He had enough bitterness.

He also wondered why this man was so intent on avoiding giving in. Many people had. When the old chestnut haired man asked him _why_ others didn't like him, Tom's composure faltered.

"Uh, I don't know sir, I really don't. I'm just...different...I suppose." He said hastily. He immediately regretted those words, for they showed a crack in his mask.

"Different, huh?" The man seemed intrigued and raised an eyebrow. "Different how?" He prodded.

Tom wasn't going to fall for it, he wasn't going to tell this man _why_ people hated him. If he wasn't willing to give charity, then Tom wasn't willing to give answers. He enjoyed challenges, but this man was clearly and easily resisting Tom's attempts at pity. Also, he gave Tom an odd feeling. Just being around him suddenly made Tom feel even more _different_. He wanted to leave and bid the man goodbye.

"Just...different sir, well, never mind, I do have to get back...sorry to bother you sir." Tom said. He frowned at knowing that during the course of conversation it was probably eight. When he returned some time later, he knew very well there wasn't going to be a bowl waiting for him. As he turned, he heard the grape clothed man call after him.

"Wait, boy. Here-" The man plucked a chocolate bar from a nearby shelf, and handed it to him. "Since I'm afraid it's already eight, I believe. And _yes_, I will pay for it." He said the last part a bit louder so the worker could hear.

As he held the chocolate, Tom wondered whether or not his plan actually worked. Yes, he had gotten something, but it had been after Tom had stopped trying. The man then leaned in towards him.

"And, boy, you realize that I gave you this not because you asked for pity with your words, but because I see something in you. Something, special. And as you would call it, _different_. Remember that." The old man murmured.

"Yes, sir..." Tom replied. As he turned to leave, he glanced back at the man to see him plopping a bag stuffed with bitter sweets on the counter. Most likely to pay for them. He was grateful the man gave him a chocolate bar, and not one of those lemon drop candies.

He strode out of the shop and into the streets. As he walked to the orphanage, he quickly unwrapped the candy bar and slowly devoured it. He then threw the wrapper into a nearby trash can. He would have saved it for later, but Tom knew better than to bring candy into an orphanage. Someone would see it, and someone else would take it.

When he did reach the back gates, he again slipped easily through them. A sudden thought occurred to him. Back gates...Massak. His eyes darted to the top of the gates but once more, saw nothing. He sighed. Tom had had enough adventures for a day, and decided to just return to his room. Perhaps he could occupy his time with a nice long nap, after all, he had woken up rather early.

He trudged through the area and opened the back door to Wool's silently. He knew breakfast must be over, so he would have to be extra quiet to remained unnoticed. Tom stepped in, and slowly shut the door behind him. He was gladdened to find out that walking about through London's streets had cleared most if not all of the crusted mud that was on his shoes. Tom took long strides across the hallway and past the one with the window in it.

Wherever Richard was now, he probably wasn't still at the window, Tom thought. He continued to stalk the grey hallways, and sparingly had to stop here and there when he heard a noise. Thankfully, no one usually ventured in his room aside form informing him of meals, or the hallway near it as a matter of fact.

After staying still behind a wall when he heard some children shouting at each other, he hastily unfroze and scurried off to his room. Once he was in, he quickly shut the door and breathed. Tom then plopped into his usually uncomfortable cot for some much needed rest. Right then, the cot felt like laying upon a thousand rose petals, or, anything else other than an orphanage cot at the moment. He sighed, and his eyelids slip over to blindfold him. Within a moment or two, he was asleep, and breathing smoothly.

It couldn't have been more than an hour before a sharp knock on the door erupted. However, Tom didn't wake. A certain pinched nose matron poked her head inside and looked at him. Once she saw that he was asleep, she allowed herself in. She looked around the room, and saw that it was the same as ever. That is, until a young Tom Riddle disappeared from it for what she assumed was an hour and a half. Now, he was back, and he was going to answer some questions.

"Tom." She said.

The boy continued sleeping, almost, ignoring her even. Mrs. Cole found it irritating

"Tom!" She said, much louder now. Her calls were only answered by the boy's quiet breathing. She then approached him and shook his shoulder.

"Tom! Wake up!" Her strong hand rocked the boy's body back and forth, and he seemed to wake.

"Hmm..mmm?" He said drowsily, his eyes slowly rolling over to where she was.

"Where have you been?!" She scolded. The other children reported that he had not been at the back table eating breakfast, and others said his room had been empty by seven. Richard Crum told her he'd seen Tom trying to go one of the doors at about six-thirty. The boy had a lot to answer to, and the matron felt like an imbecile that she had not even noticed.

Tom blinked a few times, and let out a loud yawn.

"I'm waiting, Tom." The matron said sternly.

"Oh...uh, what?" He asked. Had she really noticed he was gone for as long as he was? Perhaps he could lie and said he slept in...

"Don't play games with me, Tom. I know you've been gone for a while now. Others reported you of not being at breakfast. And a boy also told me that he saw you slip out of one of the doors at six- thirty. So, I ask you again, where were you, Tom Riddle?" She demanded him. Her sternly gaze did not intimidate the boy. She frowned.

"A boy, Mrs. Cole?...Richard..." He mused.

"Richard? Well...yes, but it doesn't matter! You slipped out, without permission, and you're in trouble. Your punishment, depends, on where you went." The matron said.

"I went, _out_, Mrs. Cole. Just out." He responded calmly.

"Yes, yes, I know you went _out._ But I want to know where exactly. And for god's sake if you say 'outside', you will really regret it." She retorted.

Tom sighed. He was far too tired to try his charm. It seemed the nap took more energy than it gave. He figured that whatever punishments she gave him he would probably earn later by doing something else.

"I just wandered around London for a bit...ma'am..nowhere else but a few shops here and there..." He said.

"London! Alone, are you mad? A child molester could have picked you up, or you could have been mugged, or-" The woman went on.

"Pardon, Mrs. Cole, but I don't think anyone would rob me. Who would mug an orphan?" Tom cut in.

"Oh never mind! My point is, you are in trouble." She said.

Tom was well aware of that and said nothing. This woman was really making herself sound stupid.

"As punishment, you are to help wash clothes, clean dishes, pick up trash, participate with yard work, and...help with new infant arrivals." She finished, tight lipped.

His eyes widened. Tom knew that 'helping with infant arrivals' meant that he was to watch over little children in the nursery. Drooling, screaming, smelling infants and toddlers. Even though, at seven years of age and eight in three more months he was still considered a child, he hardly felt so. Tom hated others of his age group and older, and they in turn, hated him back. Mrs. Cole knew this, and Tom wondered what possessed the woman to let him be in charge of such helpless children.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Cole... But did you say I am to look after the...younger children as punishment?" He asked, perplexed.

"Yes..." She said, hesitantly. "Yes that is exactly what you are going to do, Tom."

"Please excuse my rudeness, ma'am, but..._why_?" Tom asked.

The matron exhaled before answering. "I know you don't get along, particularly well with other children but... I just want to see if you are even capable of..." She trailed off uncertainly.

"Capable of what?" Tom prodded her.

"Capable of being kind to another human being. Decent even. In all the years I've known you, you had not once had a friend, Tom Riddle." She said.

"That's not entirely my fault..." He mumbled.

"It isn't? Then who's fault it is it, Tom? I know they've done things to you too sometimes Tom but I have never even seen you _try_ to reconcile with anyone. I was thinking that perhaps since none of those children in the nursery had done anything to you, you might be able to show some sort of compassion." The matron concluded.

"Can't I just-" Tom started.

"No. You are to do what you are told, and more so, you are to do it _well_. You will start tomorrow, since I have already set up other children for those duties today. Your punishment ends when... I see improvement." And with that, the matron got up, and headed for the door.

"Wait, Mrs. Cole, what do you mean by 'improvement'? What must I improve?" Tom called after her.

She poked her head out the door and said, "Think about it." And left promptly after that.

Tom squinted, and tried to make sense of what the woman just said. And to think she called _him_ the mad one. Why must he continue to demonstrate how much he doesn't care for other people?

He groaned and flopped back into his cot. He slept most of the day away, aside from lunch and supper of course. He also crept into a certain boy's room and pocketed one of his favorite neck chains, although up close it looked more like a locket. Tom remembered that he liked the look of a locket, and hoped to have his very on someday. For now, he would just have to make due with Richard's.

Tom awoke, with the sky a darkening blue, and realized that there was something he must check before he fully retired to bed. He decided he must sneak out once more and see if Massak was there. The darkness of the sky suggested that it was around eight P.M. He would have to be quick.

He slid off the cot, and walked to the door which he opened to watch for witnesses. He already had shoes on, for he was so tired he had never taken them off. Once he was convinced that no one was roaming the halls, he made his way toward the back door. Tom then opened that door, and strode right out.

He paced the back orphanage grounds and headed for the back gates. Although he was hoping to find his friend there, he told himself before not to hold high hopes. Tom then realized, that Mrs. Cole was wrong. He did have a friend, even though she was not the human kind the matron was looking for, and together they had intelligent conversations no child in Wool's could ever offer. Tom smiled at that.

Finally, he reached the back gates. He then slowly looked up. To his great surprise, he saw a white serpent hanging along them.

_"Massak!"_ He cried happily.

The snake jerked with surprise, and then raised her head to look at him.

_"Tom, there you are! Where have you been, boy?_" She said.

_"Me? I went to these gates first thing this morning and 'you' weren't here. I was in London for at least two hours looking for you and your 'Diagon Alley'." _He informed her.

_"Of coursse I wassnt here thisss morning, it wasss sso hot! I can't sstand it. I have been upon thisss gate ssince early evening. It iss much cooler then. Wait, did you ssay you looked for Diagon Alley?" _Massak responded.

Something in Tom's mind clicked. Massak, the snow snake, hated warm mornings. He should have thought of that before going through all the trouble he had gone through today.

_"Tom?"_ She asked.

_"Huh? Oh, right. Yes, I went looking but I...didn't find it. I went into a shop and a man-never mind. No, I didn't find it. Why?_" He said.

_"Well, of coursse you didn't! It'ss located near a pub called-... Here, I will take you-"_ she started.

_"-No, Massak. I know you like how it isn't hot anymore but right now I'm tired. Perhaps you can take me tomorrow, or something._" He interrupted.

_"Mmm, alright Tom. Tomorrow, then."_ She said.

_"When, tomorrow? Not morning, I'm sure."_ Tom asked.

_"Early evening, of courssse."_ The snake answered.

_"How about six-forty in the evening?"_ Tom said.

_"Alright."_ She agreed.

Then it hit him. Tom remembered that his 'punishments' started tomorrow. He wondered if he was to do everything on the same day, including the 'helping with infant arrivals' duty. If so, he would have no time to explore with Massak. After all he had been through to find her: being choked, shouted at, gathering the interest of a man dressed like a grape, to be forbidden from going with her due to the stupid matron finding out. The woman didn't even know half the story during his trip.

Massak's red eyes whirled. _"Tom! Are you alright, I am sstarting to ssmell ssomething foul. It upsetsss me that you ssmell upset." _

_"Hmm? Oh. I...don't know if I can meet you tomorrow, or the day after that. Mrs. Cole- the matron-got wind of what happened. She wasn't too happy and filled my day with her 'punishments'. I don't think I have time to leave..." _He sighed.

_"Matron...head human of your home? Her name isss Mrss. Cole? Sstrange title. I'm ssure you will at leasst have ten minutesss to yoursself during the day. When you do, come find me in the hole by the old tree stump. Then we will ssee how your sschedule worksss." _Massak told him.

_"Hmmm, I suppose you're right...you will be in that hole, all day?"_ He questioned.

_"All day, Tom."_ She said.

_"Alright then, Massak, goodnight."_ Tom told her.

_"WHAT? You are leaving already?_" Massak asked.

_"Massak, I'm tired. But I promise I will meet you sometime tomorrow, alright?"_ Tom reassured her.

She hissed irritably. _"Fine then, be ssafe."_ She told him.

_"I will. 'Night."_ Tom bid her and scampered off to his room and left a sulking snake who could smell her own distress.

As he walked through the halls, he decided to stop by the empty window that hung on one of the walls. Tom looked it over, and was relieved to see no one there watching.

He smiled impishly and reached into his pocket to finger his new treasure. It seemed, at least for a while, that Richard had learned to leave him to his own devices. He took the locket from his pocket and hung it proudly around his neck.

He realized that he would indeed, have a locket more stunning than this one when he grew older. And that, made his smile widen.

* * *

A/N- sorry it was a bit late, but this chapter was a bit longer than the others. Once more, I will get back to Massak, Diagon Alley, and the Riddles in future chapters.

Any grammer mistakes that you might see feel more than welcome to let me know.

If you have something to say, feel free to review. If you don't, thanks for reading.


	5. Riddles,Curses, And Cockroaches

Riddle Manor

Little Hangleton

1933

It was twelve O' clock, and his mother's coo-coo clock never forgot to remind him of it. Tom remembered that Mother said she got it in Germany as a souvenir of her and Father's visit there, once upon a time when the wealth of the Riddles was at its peak. Long, _long_ ago. Taking his attention away from his mother's singing clock, Tom rung a nearby bell and called for a servant. It was time for afternoon tea, and perhaps some pastries if they came along with it.

A skinny girl came to his service, and looked at him expectantly. After that 'unfortunate' incident happened, so much gossip had spread around and his family's fortune began to drop. The day he came home and buried himself into his mother's arms, he could hear nearby maids whispering things and snickering in the hallway. The Riddles of course, wouldn't have it. His parents had let go many of the staff since his arrival; partially of financial difficulties, and partially of shame. Tom knew it was mostly shame.

The girl before him was the daughter of one of their old staff, the gardener, Tom speculated. Yet, with so little servants his family still had, Tom didn't know any of their names. Not even this girl. He wondered if that should bother him. He had been taught that people of _their_ class were nothing more than servants, but were they people like he and his parents were? Not important people, granted, but real people with thoughts and feelings?

"Mr. Riddle?" The girl asked. She was still waiting.

"Hmm? Ah, yes. Bring Tea, you know the one I like, with the peppermint flavor. Oh, and also some scones while you're at it. Cranberry." He answered.

"Yes, Mr. Riddle." She said obediently. Her eyes were elsewhere, and her expression was a blank one.

"Mmmm, yes, move now. Chop, chop!" He ushered her.

The maid turned around, and scurried off to the kitchen. As far as he remembered, that one never wore an expression, and her face was really quite boring to look at. During their short conversation, the maid gave no indication that she thought or felt anything. She said nothing of the weather, how she was feeling, or anything else. She followed orders. Perhaps his parents were right for not thinking they were real people, they certainly didn't act like they were.

He then reclined in his father's old leather chair and breathed more deeply than usual. The brown chair was so old it was tearing at the stitches, but his father claimed it to be family heirloom since it had been in fact passed down through generations. Nevertheless, it was comfortable. His eyes drifted, and his vision began to blur...

No more than twenty minutes had passed when his sleep was disturbed.

"Tom. Sweetheart, wake up." A soft voice told him.

"You're too soft on him Mary, he's a man now-well, at least _half_ of one anyway." Croaked a deeper one.

Tom drew his eyelids opened and stared at the two elderly people in front of him.

"_Yes_?" He asked. If his parents were going to argue about something, why did they have to wake him up? He was having the most lovely dream...

It was his father who spoke first. "It has come to our attention that you are not pulling your weight around here."

"Pulling my weight? I'm your _son_, what's that supposed to mean?" Tom said.

"It means that while you sit on your lazy arse in _my_ chair, we are the one who pay the bills. You sit there and do nothing but gather dust!" His father said.

"Thomas! Not so harsh on him..." Mother cut in.

"I just acknowledge that I have a deadbeat son with no future ahead of him." His father finished curtly.

"Deadbeat?... I do plenty around here... I have since sponsored many businesses and people to help us along with our social standing." Tom retorted.

"You sponsor them with _our_ money!" Father fired right back.

"Alright then!" His mother yelled. "It is not our financial woes that we wish to discuss with you, dear."

"Then what is it, then?" Tom questioned, who now was extremely irritated.

"Well...your father and I won't live forever, and I am sad to say that you won't either..." She trailed off.

"Your mother and I are going to fetch your bastard and bring him here." His father said bluntly.

Tom blinked. Bastard? Did they mean...That awful child that ruined his good suit with spilt tea? They couldn't just take the boy, and they don't even have proof that the child is exactly his...

"What? Absolutely _not_! That boy ruined my suit Cousin Meredith gave me last summer. And what of the boy's parents, they won't be happy about this..." He wasn't sure about the last part of his argument, but he had to say _something_.

His father snickered. "His parents, well, now that you mention it one of them is apparently _not_ very happy about his arrival here at all. Your mother looked into his case, and turns out, he's an 'orphan'. His mother is dead, and for that we were grateful. Although I know now that's not really true of him being completely orphaned. He lives in some dingy orphanage somewhere in London."

"No... You must be mistaken.." He whispered.

"We are most certainly not! Don't play dumb with me Tom, lord knows how you've done so well being dumb in real life. I heard you mutter things in Hershel's place. You knew he existed." He father retorted.

"Tom, darling, please don't be angry, but this is necessary." Mother said.

"Necessary, why? Why do you need that child around here, his only purpose would be to remind us of... That _incident_." Tom shuddered.

"Oh please! We don't need the boy for that, you remind us each and every day by how little you give to our dwindling fortune. No, no, Tom. The boy will be nothing more than the family heir." His father explained.

"A heir?! But-I'm the-youngest in our line. Perhaps I will produce one later..." Tom protested.

"Later? Ha! Don't make us laugh Tom, we might have a stroke, and then you would really be in trouble. You haven't stepped a toe out of the gates since you came back. Even if you had, well, no girl in the village would have you. Not with the tales and gossip that surround you like a swarm of flies. With that in mind, how would you produce an heir? Short answer, you wouldn't. Our minds are made up, and we are taking the boy." Father said.

"Really dear, you should have told us about him sooner. And as sorry as I am to admit... Your father's right... We do need an heir." His mother added sympatheticly.

"If you want a heir so much then why don't you just... Go make one yourselves!" Tom exclaimed.

"Make one ourselves? At our age? What are you trying to do, kill us? This is not up for discussion Tom. We are merely informing you of what is going to be happening, whether you approve or not." His father told him.

Tom frowned. He had no control, no influence to his parent's doings. He stayed silent.

"Oh Tom, don't be so negative! Didn't you have a good look at him? He's cute, just like you were at that age... A bit too thin though for my liking. But other than that he looked just like you!" She cooed.

"Just like me? Hmph. I doubt that..." He grumbled.

"No more cheek, Tom. If you are still somewhat of a man, then you will simply deal with it." Father said.

"Hmph...Where will he sleep? Not in my room of course! Or the two rooms next to it. Nowhere near me, that's for sure... Shall we hire an extra maid to mind him or-" Tom started.

Father laughed. "Hire an extra maid!? I don't know if you're aware of this, but you're not asleep and therefore not dreaming anymore. _You_ will care for him. You made him, you mind him."

"What? Why? Father, as we saw on our trip to Hershel's, _he doesn't like me..._ It would really be better if we just forget the idea, the boy would do nothing here but cause us problems..." Tom said. As if that would change their minds.

"Well, if you wouldn't have acted like a spoiled man-child maybe things would be different. Once again, this is not a choice you have. We are just telling you what is going to happen. You must not protest or complain any further" His father retorted.

"But-" Tom began.

"No buts! Nothing! You heard what we told you and that's that. You may fall back asleep if you wish, but just know that next week we will be retrieving the boy!" Father shouted.

"Next week!?" He gasped. It was too soon. He didn't want the child at all. Not while he was a reminder of that...That _woman_. Perhaps the boy is a freak, like _her_.

"Yes, the matron said that the earliest we could apply for him was seven days! Can you believe it? I tried to get him tomorrow, but she refused. She didn't even budge when I informed her that she was speaking with a Riddle, and a very prominent one too. Stupid woman, not knowing her place..." Mother said, although it was mostly to herself.

Tom rubbed his eyes. "Seven days? Are you sure about this, Mother, Father? It will be a big responsibility...and a nuisance."

"Seven days, no less. Be prepared, and also use this time to reflect on your mistakes. I don't want this heir growing up and turning out like you did..." His father informed him. _"Screwed up..."_

"Thomas! He turned out fine... Do try to get used to the idea, Tom. You'll find that the days will pass so very quickly... Like your father said, be ready." His mother said wisely.

He said nothing.

His mother leaned in towards him and pressed a wrinkled kiss into his forehead. His father simply mumbled something and left. His mother soon followed. Tom sighed heavily and sank into his father's chair. His eyelids slid over his vision a few times. As he forced them open, a thin figure appeared at his right. The maid.

She stood dumbly still and looked at him, with a tray of most likely cold tea and scones in hand. He became irritated.

"Well! Don't just stand there! Bring that here!" He scolded the slow maid.

"Errr... Yes sir, Mr. Riddle, yes sir." She obliged and came forward and handed him the silver tray.

He took it from her and promptly tasted the tea. He was right, cold. He then had a bite of one of the scones and came up with the same sensation. Cold. Strangely enough, the stress of thinking about _that_ child running about his home made him slightly tolerant of this. He even tried to make conversation with the maid, the best way he could, that is.

"How long were you standing there? I ordered my tea ten minutes ago!" He snapped.

"Ummm... About eight minutes sir, I... Came with with them in two minutes but I didn't want to intrude..." She squeaked.

"Pfft! So you just stood there? Like an imbecile? The whole time?" Tom questioned. He spaced each sentence with a bite of a cold cranberry scone.

The girl's left eye twitched, and her mouth threatened to twist downwards. She seemed to notice this and quickly wiped all the emotion off of her face within seconds. If Tom had not been making eye-contact, he would have never noticed.

"Yes, I did. I am so sorry Mr. Riddle, so very very sorry." The maid said blandly. It was the first time he heard an apology from someone of lower status say insincerely.

But then it occurred to him. How many times had he and his parents missed those little sparks of resentment that flickered across the faces of their no named servants? Most likely, always. In fact, this was the first time he had ever bothered to look one in the eye, and it puzzled him at first because the girl was so plain looking. Faceless, almost. She seemed to react negatively to his insult, but quickly hid it away. Now he had seen at least a drop of human identity in this one. What was her name again? Did it really matter? He decided it was worth a try.

"Hmmph, well, tell me next time when you arrive! I could have really used a cup earlier! Now... What was your name again?" Tom asked her.

She blinked. His previous words seemed to vanish in her brain but his question looked like it startled her. More emotion. He was getting closer.

"M-my name? May I ask wh- mmmmm, never mind. Nora. My name is Nora, Mr. Riddle." She answered, hesitantly. Usually his question would be normal and polite when asked of people of his class and status, but the way he used it in his current situation made it sound completely absurd. At least to own his ears.

"Nora? Alright. You may go now, _Nora_." He told her.

The girl blushed slightly and bobbed her head. She then headed back to the kitchen, or-wherever maids and servants go when they've been dismissed, Tom didn't really know. He did, however, feel proud to have wasted his time knowing the common name of a faceless girl. Tom noted that acknowledgement given equals content and or happy servants. Perhaps, he could use this newfound skill to keep the upcoming brat under control in seven days.

Tom exhaled and closed his eyes.

The boy so openly disdained him. Not even those who Tom knew hated him and his family were so blunt and open about it, especially those who looked like they lived in a poorhouse. But the child did in fact disregard the power he and his family had. Tom was dressed in clothes the boy had probably only seen on movie stars, and held himself with rich wealth pride even as he preformed the mundane task of drinking tea in a common sweet shop.

And yet, the child had the nerve to be so blunt and rude to him after staining one of his favorite suits. Insolence and confidence. The boy suddenly reminded Tom of his own father, who so flatly called his son lazy. He frowned, since he and his father's relationship had deteriorated over the years. Now, in no less than a week, he was to not just deal with another difficult individual, but be expected raise him too. He sincerely hoped the next one hundred sixty-eight hours passed _very_ slowly.

* * *

Wool's Orphanage

London

1933

The halls were quiet. Children stayed dreaming at least until seven. Usually. Currently, it was 5:16 A.M. The head matron was up by four. She hustled about the orphanage making sure everything was perfectly in order and merely enjoyed walking around the place without annoying children there to cause problems. Today however, she had a very specific purpose being up by four and quickly scurried out of her office and into the rest of the building.

The matron first went to the kitchens, where she made sure every dirty dish was in the washing area ready to be cleaned by a sure to be grumpy child in an hour. Tom Riddle. She almost smiled thinking about it. The matron was sure the boy had gotten away with so many other things she wasn't aware of that she didn't feel the least bit sorry for him.

She then hurried to the laundry room and made sure the filthy pile was separate from the clean one. While inspecting the dirty clothes, a nasty stain filled shirt caught her eye and held it. As she looked closer, she saw many brown splatters and grey clumps stuck to the the shirt. The matron immediately knew who was responsible. It was a girl, ten years old, and was named Iris Sweet, ironically enough. The child was responsible for ruining four sets of clothes already with assorted oil stains, mud splatters, and other dark colored foul smelling smudges. And for a moment, she almost pitied the boy who was to wash it. _Almost_.

She then went through the rest of her daily routine of inspecting the rest of the place. After the matron had finished, she strode casually ahead and looked up at a nearby clock pinned on the wall. 5:47. She suddenly heard a screaming noise and hurried into the room it came from. Unsurprisingly, she had stumbled into the nursery where she came upon a squealing toddler on the floor with something jutting out of his nose. The matron sighed, grabbed the child, held him still, and pulled out a slimy plastic soldier. The boy's cries stopped and he giggled with glee as he picked up the green soldier that the matron had quickly dropped.

"Ugh..." She shuddered in disgust.

She then left the child to his snot soldier and swept into the halls. Her next task was to wake Tom. The matron hesitantly glanced back at the nursery, and really wondered if she should let Tom anywhere near it.

"I have to _try_... Perhaps it won't be so bad..." She consoled herself. And for a moment, she actually believed it too.

Finally she had reached the boy's room, opened the door quietly, and poked her head inside. Once she saw his long limbs hanging carelessly off the bed and his whole body asleep, she went in.

She crept in until she was right beside him. The matron looked at his peaceful expression for a second. Mischievous imp. She then preceded to wake him.

"Tom!" She shouted. She knew it must be done quickly, if the boy was to help wash most if not all of the dishes by the time breakfast started.

Tom jolted up and stared at her wide-eyed. Why was she in his room this early?

"What? Did I grow a second head or something? Get dressed and report to the kitchens." She ordered him.

His eyes then narrowed, with his right brow rising above the left one. "What?"

"You heard me. Don't you remember your little adventure yesterday? I told you the punishments, and you are to start today, or do you not recall our previous conversation?" She said coldly. The matron knew that Tom Riddle may be handsome and peaceful looking in his sleep, but while awake, was extremely manipulative and foul tempered.

"Oh...yes..._that_.." He murmured, still drowsy. Stupid woman, waking him so early.

"Mmmm yes indeed. Now, come child, the dishes and laundry aren't going to clean themselves! Up! Up!" She told him.

Tom suppressed a yawn and cleared himself of sleepiness. Did she say something about the dishes and laundry not being able to clean themselves? Perhaps with a little time and effort he could change that... If he didn't plan on meeting Massak later in the day, Tom would have spent the time experimenting on the dishes and laundry.

Tom blinked as he remembered all the 'punishments' Mrs. Cole had set up for him. Dishes, laundry, picking up garbage, yard work, and... Taking care of small slimy children.

"Mrs. Cole?" He asked, almost innocently.

"What? I don't have time for your questions Tom, you and I have work to do, and lots of it!" She answered, obviously beginning to become irritated.

"I apologize ma'am... But just this one question if I may... What is my work schedule today? I know you said it is over completely when you see... 'Improvement', but I don't know what tasks you wish me to finish today." He explained calmly.

_'-and it is helpful knowing what I am to do so I know when I may slip out..."_ He left that thought unsaid.

Her eyes opened a bit wider, and as if she heard his thoughts, retorted back. "Why should I tell you? So you can just disappear when I'm not looking? I wasn't born yesterday child!"

'_Obviously_' Tom thought. At times when she told him boring things and carried on about it, he would count the wrinkles on her forehead for his own amusement. Still, he knew better than to say so.

"You will do what I tell you, when I tell you to do it. That is all you must know. Now, off with you! Kitchens! Now! Enough stalling boy!" The matron tugged his arm roughly.

"Alright alright..." He muttered.

"Hmm?" She said.

"Yes ma'am, I meant..." Tom answered. That was _not_ what he meant to say at all.

"That's what I thought." She replied smugly, and left him. Possibly to annoy the few kitchen staff into madness or to step on snakes for her own enjoyment. He shuddered. Tom didn't want to think about her harming a serpent, not even the nasty ones. And so, he slid out of bed and into his shoes, and went to join the kitchen workers who would surely be mad by the time he got there.

Surprisingly, the three ladies who worked there didn't seem to have encountered the matron at all. When he arrived, he saw them chattering on like a couple of barn chickens. Finally, one of them turned around and noticed a seven year old boy standing at the doorway.

She gasped. "So _this_ is the boy that got Joan all worked up? How? He's so cute!" She squealed. The lady was young, and since Tom didn't remember seeing her all that much, she was probably new.

And for her ignorance toward his true personality and intentions, he gave her his most handsomest smile. Tom figured that this 'Joan' was Mrs. Cole, and to hear that he had irritated her so made his smile to her of genuine happiness-or was it, satisfaction?

One of the others turned around, with this one being very old. Her hair resembled a owl's nest with a salt-and-pepper coloring. If he remembered correctly, her name was Louise. He also recalled how the woman may not be so naïve being as she was working at Wools longer than he had been alive.

"Careful Lucy, dear, he bites." She muttered. Tom really wasn't fond of her now that he thought about it.

"_What_!?" The girl called Lucy screeched. Her hand that was previously going to pinch his bony cheeks quickly retracted. Did she really think he would _bite_ her? Perhaps she had spent too much time with the infants and toddlers...

The third kitchen lady turned and Tom recognized her as Martha. Her red feathered hair compressed in a hairnet.

"Oh, he doesn't bite! Well, not 'literally' dear. Don't be fooled though, he's handsome and polite, but sneaky too, or _so I've heard_." She said wisely, but that hint of amusement was still there.

Tom still stood there, grinning like dimwit. That is, until he realized he looked like an idiot and his smile was no longer charming anyone. Louise then beckoned him over and handed him a sponge and pointed to a cluster of plates and assorted silverware on a nearby countertop.

"There. Wash them, and then put them on the drying rack." She told him curtly.

He walked to the dishes and proceeded to scrub and rinse them. The youngest lady looked at him in awe as he did the task smoothly. As Louise and Martha knew perfectly well, this wasn't the first time he was sent to the kitchens, and by now he knew the drill.

Aside from having his own breakfast set aside and being able to eat it with the clucking chickens, his morning activities consisted of plainly washing dishes and the occasional restroom break. After every child in the orphanage had had their meager breakfast, the dishes were filthy and ready to be washed once more.

By the time it was at least nine, Tom's fingers looked like wet pale raisins. The other ladies of course were still talking, even though all of the dishes had been cleaned. He hoped he was not scheduled to wash them when lunch and supper time came around, for he feared that his wrinkled fingers might just quit on him and decide to fall off.

He sighed and plopped down on a nearby stool. Tom glanced up slightly and noticed the young girl's stare upon him once more. He gave her a forced smile that vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

His second task wash to do laundry.

The next few hours were spent delightfully washing sweat and grime out of other children's clothes with Louise. Tom knew it was futile in trying to make conversation with the old woman, so he stayed quiet. The only noise that he heard throughout his time there was the occasional disgusted grunt of Louise as she lifted up a particularly morbid piece of clothing. Tom then was allowed to go and eat lunch, which was a much more pleasant experience than picking through filthy clothes with a stale old woman.

After that, the matron came by and escorted him off to the young children's area. She kept a grip so tight Tom was sure she could teach the angry shop worker a thing or two. When they came upon the room, he could hear the crying and sniffling normally associated with infants. She pulled him in, where his sense of smell was bombarded with putrid stenches. He shuddered and remembered how he hated children.

Tom then looked up at Mrs. Cole to see her speaking quietly to a young girl. Lucy, he remembered. She looked pale and tense, which was very different to how lively she was in the kitchens. He didn't have a good feeling about how his time spent here would affect him when it was over.

The matron then left, while offering him her stern warning glare as she went. Normally, she was right to be concerned for the younger children, but as the hours of doing laundry and washing dishes had taken its toll, Tom didn't feel the normal spark of deviousness shoot through him.

Lucy turned her head towards him and she seemed surprised, if not a bit excited. "You! Tom, isn't it? Ahhh, a child who won't slobber on me!"

She leapt for him and wrapped her arms around in an awkward hug. After a few seconds too long she finally let him go. He remained stiff even after she let go, for he never really enjoyed physical contact...

"Are you really as nasty as Mrs. Cole says you are?" She asked, even though it hardly sounded like she believed it.

"I don't think I am..." Tom answered. He knew he was clever, and downright devious, but nasty? He really wouldn't use that word to describe himself.

"Oh of course not! How come you are still here, in this place? I can see why some of the ugly ones here are still...here, but you being so handsome?" She cooed.

"I don't know..." He said. Tom knew. For one reason or another, most people who had come to adopt noticed his freakishness and avoided him. Tom sometimes had that effect on other people.

"Well! Neither do I, you're so cute!" Lucy squeaked again. The girl was beginning to resemble the young upbeat kitchen lady Tom had met earlier.

The rest of his shift was spent assisting Lucy with noisy little children. As he sat down for a quick break, a girl that looked about two years old toddled up to him. She stared at him for a minute, with unfocused blue eyes. The child then grabbed his dangling hand and sunk her tiny teeth into his pale skin.

Tom yelped and tried to pull away, but the girl hung on. He looked around and saw Lucy busy changing a diaper. He swung his arm weakly and used his free hand to grab her jaw. Her sharp stubs dug deeper.

_"Let. Me. Go."_ He commanded slowly. Tom then pinched her jaw.

The girl shook her head, wagging his captive hand at the same time. As Tom's grip on the girls mouth tightened, she retaliated by clamping down even harder. He was sure there was blood running through his fingers by now and he desperately shook his hand. Tom wanted her to let go. He wanted his arm free. And she wasn't going to oblige until he made her.

After minutes of concentration mixed in the pain in his hand, the girl jolted for a second, miraculously stopped her biting, and set his hand free. Tom retracted it as fast as he could, and was unsurprised to see what looked like red saliva gushing from his knuckles. The girl just sat there, bleary eyed, and stared at him. She then burst out in tears and loud screams.

Tom leaned in close to her and muttered. "If you _**ever**_ do that to me again, it will be much worse."

The child responded by continuing to cry her very eyes out.

Of course her cries alerted Lucy and the girl picked up the child and carried her off somewhere. Where ever that child went, Tom didn't care. He picked up his bleeding hand again and sighed heavily. _'How much longer?' _He mused. It was only his first day and he had possibly almost lost his hand.

After his nursery duties were declared over for the day by the matron herself and his hand was bandaged, Tom was allowed the rest of the day to himself. Mrs. Cole however did warm him not to do anything that would grant him more punishments. As far as he could remember, Tom Riddle didn't really care for the advice of others, or their warnings either. As far as he was also concerned, he had the rest of the day to be with Massak.

Currently, Tom had woken up from a nap after he returned from supper. He turned his head towards the window and was shocked to see that the sky was black. How long had he slept? Too long. Tom heaved out of bed and rushed into the halls.

They were dark. Unlit blackness. Fortunately, he was confident that he knew his way out well enough without his eyes. Tom carefully wandered through the hallways with his arms outstretched to guide him. After minutes of searching, he finally stumbled directly into the back door. Tom was sure his nose was bruised due to the impact. He muttered a word that he often heard the matron said when she was angry and promptly turned the knob.

Locked. _Of course it was_.

Suddenly, he heard a noise, faint as it was, it still echoed. '_clomp_'

As if it made any difference, he jiggled the knob a few more times. Still locked. His hands then ran across the door, as he hoped there might be a key hidden somewhere. There wasn't.

_Clomp_

_Clomp_

Tom found himself panicking quickly. The noise sounded so much like... The distinct pounding of Mrs. Cole's square-toed heeled shoes.

_Clomp_

The knob wouldn't budge. There was no key to be found. However, his fingers did find a silver looking wire wound up around the door's hinges. Tom smiled. He quietly unwrapped the the wire from the hinge. Tom then stuck it carefully in the knob's key hole. He turned it a few times, with little success.

_Clomp_

Tom then pushed it in further, and turned it to the right, and to his great surprise and relief, the door creaked open in defeat. He pocketed the wire, since he thought it might be useful when coming back inside, and left for the gates.

He ran through the darkness, hoping not to stumble on a loose rock, and easily guided himself to the almost invisible gates. He guessed she would be there than her usual hole, as her body glowed in the blackness. The black gates were just about swallowed up inside the night, hardly seeming to exist at all. That is until, Tom looked up and saw an illuminated white serpent upon them.

_"Late!"_ She hissed.

_"Wha- Oh, yes that. Sorry, but you knew I had chores! I couldn't get away... And a stupid little child actually b-"_ Tom began, but he was cut short.

_"Hussh, I need not your excusess! However, now that I think about it, I much prefer Diagon Alley at night. Beautiful place. You must ssee. Come, and I will take you."_ Massak cut in.

Tom was surprised. Slightly. _"Now? Are you sure?"_

_"Of coursse! Thiss may be our lasst chance. Follow me, quickly though, we might not have much time and there isss much I wissh to ssshow you." _Massak proclaimed as she effortlessly descended from the gates with the speed one would not expect for a snake. She was right in warning him to be quick, for he almost had to run to keep pace with her.

She slithered along the sidewalks of London, with Tom running briskly behind. Car lights flashed across roads and sidewalks alike, and when Massak's body happened to be caught in a stray beam, Tom noticed how an albino snake could really turn some heads. However, after a few second glances, most people just went on their way.

He continued to follow her, and also picked up on the fact that she had a way of making pedestrians avoid her almost completely. Tom long speculated that Massak was a very _different_ kind of serpent, but now was starting to consider her to be very much like him. As he didn't hear any screams of terror regarding a snake roaming free in London, he decided later to ask her if that was one of her _abilities_. By now he was sure she had them.

Finally, she abruptly stopped. Tom would have kept walking and stepped on her if she didn't glow as much.

_"Are we here, Massak?"_ He whispered.

Tom looked at the building they were in front of, and saw nothing remarkable about it. It was plain looking, and yet Tom felt something inside him light up. He wondered why.

_"Nearly."_ She answered. She then slithered forward, presumably into the building. Tom blindly followed her lead.

Strangely enough, the door was cracked open, and Massak used this to her advantage by wedging herself through and therefore sliding the door open further with her body. Tom slowly strode in behind her. He was hit with the smell of smoke and the sound of drunken laughter.

_"Where are we?"_ He asked nervously.

_"In a pub. The Leaky Cauldron."_ She answered curtly.

_"Why? I thought you were taking me to an 'alley', not a pub. I heard from Mrs. Cole that they were not places to be around at my age. She said they were dangerous..."_ Tom said warily. Usually nothing but hot air came from the mouth of that woman, but when his own safety was a risk, he actually listened to her advice here and there.

_"Our desstination isss not here. The pub isss a gateway, you ssee. It iss the border between their world and ourss."_ The serpent explained, as if he would understand.

_"Their world?"_ Tom asked, utterly confused. As he took in the patrons of the bar, he noticed how odd looking they were. He noticed how there were old men with outrageously long beards wearing strange cloaks, and a few women there had pointed hats. They looked like _witches_.

_"The mugglesss, Tom. The 'ordinary' people. We're not them. We are sspecial." _She said dismissively. Still, she continued only to confuse her human companion further.

Massak suddenly stopped, near a entryway at the back of the bar, and turned her head to him. _"Stay here, and wait. I will be back."_ She instructed him firmly, and slithered into the entrance. Tom found this strange, particularly because she didn't lisp on the word 'stay' like serpents do. It struck him as odd, but perhaps he had heard wrong?

And so, he stood, waiting for a white serpent to come and retrieve him. Tom occupied himself by further observing the peculiar people in the pub. He was mildly surprised to see them staring at him, with a horrified look on some of their faces. A man who was standing behind a counter, who Tom presumed to be the bartender, whispered coarsely to him.

"You...!" The man hesitated. "Parslemouth?!"

"What?" He asked. What did that man call him?

"Are-are you a _parslemouth_, boy?" He hissed louder, as if he simply thought that Tom couldn't hear clearly enough.

"Ummm, no... I am...Tom... Tom Riddle." Tom answered.

What ever a parslemouth was, from the reactions he was getting for being accused of it, he concluded it would best suit him not to be one. Aside from the breathing of the bartender, Tom suddenly heard taps. If his memory was correct, five. They seemed to come from the rear of the pub, but since he had everyone's attention it went unnoticed. A series of scraping sounds followed after with the same effect.

The man suddenly seemed amused. "Tom, is it? Riddle... Humph.. How come you are able speak to that snake then?" He questioned.

"Can't everyone?" Tom asked. It seemed that every one else was oblivious to Massak's intelligence, even odd people like these. How was it that only he seemed to hear her?

"_No_." The man said bluntly.

Just as he was about to respond, Massak slithered out of the entryway and up to him. This, silenced the bartender.

_"I am ready Tom, follow me."_ She said simply. Tom glanced back at the man to see his face twisted up in frightened confusion.

He then followed the snake through a courtyard and into the strangest place he had ever seen.

He was interrupted from his shock by Massak. _"Can you let me slither onto your arm? It's been awfully tiring going all this way..." _

Without really thinking Tom picked her up and set her upon his left arm. She immediately curled her pale body around it. He again noticed how she missed the exaggerated sound snakes make when pronouncing the 's' sound.

Tom quickly forgot all about her unusual behavior due to his eyes being bombarded with wicked looking things. He slowly walked along the cobbled road, wearing his white patterned companion like a fashion accessory, and tried to absorb everything he saw. The alley was lit from the light glowing from inside shop windows, as well as a few lanterns hung here and there.

Tom observed more ladies with witch hats, people with long black robes, owls flying through the dark sky with letters in their beaks, and people holding long sticks.

He wandered close to a particularly foul smelling shop, which was scrunched between a dozen other significantly less smelling ones. Tom pressed his fingers against the glass and saw the shop filled with cages with strange little creatures in them.

_"Massak! Do you think there are other snakes in there?"_ He asked his albino bracelet excitedly.

_"I hope not. That place smells like the fungus between a troll's toes. What serpent would tolerate such a stench?"_ She said disdainfully.

_"It does stink..."_ He admitted, and shifted his attention to a far better scented shop. It's sign read: Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor

He frowned. He knew he had no money. There was no use tempting himself, and he pressed on. Tom and his bracelet companion wandered the streets, with he himself getting easily distracted. Massak tried to explain it all so he would understand.

_"I told you. You, I, and all these people around us are different. The plain ones are referred to as 'muggles'_." She said slowly, and without the serpentine accent.

_"But, what makes us special, exactly? Is it because we have special abilities? I still don't understand."_ Tom told her.

_"No, no. Every human has 'abilities'. Such as: the ability to read, being able to speak a language, walk... These, are common muggle things. What you call 'abilities', we call power. Only certain beings have real power, like what you have. What I and everyone else in Diagon Alley have as well."_ The serpent explained.

Tom tried to grasp the idea. He knew how odd he was, but to find out that a kind of secret society existed with oddities such as himself overwhelmed him.

_"So... If the ordinary people are called... Muggles... What am I?"_ Tom asked the snake.

_"Well, a wizard of course! Remember how you told me of the 'sticks' those people carry around? They're not sticks. They are wands. You will have one some day."_ Massak said confidently.

_"I-I am a wizard?! Like-like those ones in books who cast spells and curse people?"_ He questioned.

_"You are a wizard, Tom, but I wouldn't use muggle literature as a reference to go by."_ She answered.

_"Then that means... I can curse people? Turn those who are mean to me into insects and crush them if I want?"_ Asked her joyfully. One should think a child wouldn't get joy by having thoughts of crushing other children... Massak's hold tightened around his arm.

_"Not particularly... Oh, no, I think it's getting to be pretty late. You had a good time, didn't you Tom? I am afraid we must leave now."_ The serpent said worriedly. Tom again noted her lack of excessive 's' sound she always made when she spoke.

Before he could protest, his bracelet unraveled herself from his arm and was off. Tom of course had no choice but to hastily follow.

Within a short amount of minutes, they had already reached the back gates of the orphanage. Tom slipped through, and Massak crept up the gates. She bid him a quick and hasty goodnight, and insisted that he immediately go to bed.

Once safely inside and on his cot, Tom's mind began to remember. He thought about how Massak claimed him to be a wizard, with special powers. He of course, believed her. It seemed like it made so much sense in his own mind. He didn't have 'abilities', he had _power_. So much so that Massak said he would be getting a _wand_. Tom reasoned that he must be indeed _very_ powerful.

Usually, Tom Riddle didn't dream. He didn't fantasize about a long lost father returning or a mother who isn't actually dead rescuing him. Those thoughts died very long, long ago. But tonight, Tom was sure that the images of turning annoying children into cockroaches and stomping on them would play in his mind as he slept. Tonight, he really, _really_ wanted to dream.

* * *

A/N- sorry for this being a bit late. If you see any grammar/spelling mistakes, feel free to let me know. Yes, Massak's still pretty much a mystery, but Tom seems to be noticing things about her. As always, Thanks for reading.

* * *

Also, Lady-Cougar, I fixed the 'We'll' to 'well'. Thanks for telling me, I often don't notice these things until it is posted. Also, thank you for reviewing and leaving your thoughts, as I do read them.


	6. A Squib, Not A Squid

Riddle Manor

Little Hangleton

1933

The once soft pitter patter of the rain rose drastically and woke Tom from his nap. He yawned, handsomely of course, and rose out of bed. He peeled away one of the drapes and was unsurprisingly greeted by a howling storm. Tom then went to the mirror nearby and fixed himself the best he could. He straightened his tie and brushed off his coat, at the same time examining his hair that he respectively kept slicked back with expensive oil. Once he looked into the reflection and felt he looked suitable, he wandered downstairs.

Not even at the last velvet covered step, Tom felt his heart sink. There, standing on the bottom of the staircase, were his parents. They were dressed up nicely, more so than they usually did these days. Tom immediately knew why. Had it been seven days already? He looked down cautiously and saw his mother fussing over his father's suit. Once he determined that they hadn't spotted him there, he wondered if he should just slip back into his bedroom. He dismissed that thought quickly, because it looked like they were coming up to get him anyway. However, Tom briefly considered bolting back upstairs and heaving himself out of the window, but on second thought discarded the idea as it probably wouldn't be enough to kill him. "_Damn_" He muttered coldy.

He stood, waiting for his parents to notice him. From where he was, he could see the tops of both of their heads. Together, with dark gray and white hair, they reminded Tom of containers of salt and pepper. Finally, his mother patted Father's suit with a satisfied grunt and causally glanced upwards. Father did the same, giving his son nothing but a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, Darling, I see you're ready!" Mother said excitedly.

In truth, he had not meant to be ready at all. Tom normally checked his appearance and always made sure he looked sharp, regardless if he even left his room. But on this particular day, he wished he had kept sleeping and messed up his whole outfit in the process. He dreaded this day, and forced himself to believe that his parents would eventually forget about the boy by the end of the week. They didn't. Unfortunately for him, his parents had not started to become senile yet.

"Ummm...Yes, yes I am. I always look presentable Mother, do I not?" He said smugly.

"You always look handsome Tom, no doubt about that, sweetheart. When we pick up the boy you will have to teach him how to do the same." She said.

With that, his smile faded. His father laughed.

"What? Did you think we were just going out? You remember what day it is, now don't you Tom?" Father asked, amusement evident in his voice.

"Yes Father." He mumbled. He tried to force out a smile, but it never reached his lips. Father made it look so easy when he did it.

"Well!" Father said, with a wide stretched grin on his wrinkled face, "Let's go, shall we?"

And with that, he hurriedly followed his mother and father outside, to the waiting driver in the driveway. Once they were inside the car, Mother complained about the rain drenching her clothes. Father just looked ahead and said nothing. He himself turned his head backwards, to his home, wishing he had reconsidered jumping out of that window. As the driver started the car and went on the way to London, Tom's eyes never looked forward, even as the manor disappeared in the rain.

* * *

Wool's Orphanage

London

1933

The first thing he saw this morning was the same thing he saw the night before. Darkness. Although, it was only early morning, and the clouds covered up any evidence of that. The storm also cut the weak power line from Wool's, sure to frighten little children with the flickering of the lights when late morning came. But not Tom. Tom liked the dimness around him, as the usual sun's glare wasn't very kind to his fair skin. He yawned loudly, sure that nobody would hear him. It was 5:00 a.m. and he wondered if the matron was even awake. If she was, he knew she wouldn't bother coming into his room anymore. By now, Tom knew how his 'punishments' were scheduled.

It seemed as natural as breathing by now. Yesterday he had worked outside with the orphanage's only hired groundskeeper, and rummaged through laundry with Lousie. The day after usually consisted of washing dishes wiping down tables. The duties switched on and off. Fortunately, the matron had canceled Tom's nursery duties. She claimed that he could have been for his protection, and that the smaller children are too rough for a seven year old boy to handle. Tom knew better. So did the matron. It was the children who were in _real_ danger. Tom however, didn't complain, for the less chores he had, the more time he had to find Massak.

He stretched a bit, and slipped into his shoes. Since he was outside yesterday, he knew where he was to go today, and tomorrow, and the day after that. Tom casually strode the hallways, gently fingering a stolen locket tucked beneath his shirt. His quiet steps were amplified by the emptiness of the halls. He walked through the doors of the kitchen, where he was acknowledged by Lousie with a deep unwomanly grunt. There, he found himself a pile of dishes, already set by Lousie, ready to be washed. As he glanced around, he was mildly surprised of the absence of the other two women. Lucy and Martha usually joined them. Somehow noticing the delay in the sound of dishes being washed, the old woman cleared her throat expectantly. Tom went to work immediately, and finished the dishes in an hour.

He dried his hands with a nearby rag, and proceeded to wipe down the tables where the children were to soon eat breakfast. It didn't take long, only about fifteen minutes at most. However, he knew he wasn't done. He had to do this twice more, once for every meal. By now, his once smooth fingers were ether wrinkly when they were wet or flaky when dry from being soaked in water for the past week.

Tom sat on the table, breathing calmly, until Lousie called him to attention. "Ehem, what are you sitting there for boy? If you're done with that, I've got somethin' else for ya."

Tom pursed his lips. Something else? He didn't have any more duties until lunch. Not that he was told.

"Don't look at me like that! You're being punished, remember? Now I don't know exactly what for, but I wouldn't care anyways, so it don't matter. Come here, Riddle boy." She said darkly.

Tom was sure he should refuse, but how? Slowly and unsure if it was his own movement at all, he walked toward her. He knew her wrinkled skin wore no expressions, but the way they curled around her lips made it seem like she was always frowning. Even more intimidating. He opened the doors to the kitchen, where the old woman stood in the middle, cross armed. An emotion flickered in her eyes, but it was gone so fast Tom couldn't tell just what it was.

"_Yes_?" He asked, too sharply than he probably should have. However, the old woman didn't seem to mind.

She looked at him closely, her old eyes seeming to become young again. Tom frowned, but her eyes didn't catch it. She leaned in closer, with a dull glint in her eyes and said softly, "You've been to Diagon Alley recently, haven't you Tom?"

He leaned back and said nothing, but inside he cringed. How could she know about that place? The last time he was there, Massak said nonmagical people couldn't find it. Muggles, she called them. Tom slowly met the old woman's eyes and was sure he saw certainty in them. Would that mean Massak lied, then?

"Oh, come on, don't just stand there, tell me if I'm right. I haven't been there in _years_. I could recognize the scent of that place anywhere, and I've noticed it a lot since last week." She said causally.

"How do you-" He stammered, but was interrupted.

"How do I what? Do you take me for some _muggle_?!" She retorted, as if the answer wasn't obvious.

"Muggle...So, you're a freak too?-wait, no, wizard I mean. Yes?" Tom asked. He remembered that if she was a freak, he would be one too, and he didn't particularly _like_ that word. Massak also said that wizards are not freaks, and Tom was pretty sure he believed her.

Lousie didn't take to kindly to it either, judging by the way her small eyes narrowed. But she apparently had been called worse, for she didn't say anything to scold him.

"A freak hmm? Well... Not exactly..." The old woman said bitterly. "I could have been..."

Tom said nothing, nor did he ask her any more questions. The woman looked as if a debate were going on in her own mind with her eyes having a sort of lost look to them, and she didn't appear to be in any state to be answering questions. He slowly walked backwards, hoping to escape her, but her eyes refocused and noticed him.

"Trying to flee, boy? I couldn't hurt ya, not even if I wanted to... Ah, but for your question. Am I one of those wizard freaks, well, it's complicated you see. But, no, I'm not considered one of _them_. Lousie said full of distaste, like she had just swallowed a bug. "I'm what they call, a 'squib'."

"A _squib_?" Tom repeated. The word sounded so much like the word _squid_, so much so that Tom could imagine Lousie with about six more arms by just glancing at her. However, that word was different, though. Dangerous, even.

The old woman sighed heavily, an exaggerated gesture, Tom thought. Most likely because of his slowness in understanding magical things and people that seemed perfectly normal to her. Tom thought he was doing well being as it was that he had recently discovered a whole new world with a talking snake at his side.

Finally, she explained. "A squib, Tom, is someone born to wizard parents who has no such talents themselves. Usually, they are disowned and considered worthless. They are different from muggles though, who are ignorant. I know there are two worlds boy. And you reek of the one that rejected me!" She scowled down at him, her small eyes mean.

She continued on, mostly to herself. "My brother wasn't a squib. He wasn't an embarrassment!" She then turned on Tom. "You know, he has a daughter now, Hepzibah, and _she_ isn't a squib. Stupid as soup, but still, not a _squib_."

Tom stepped back further, but he knew he couldn't escape. He mustered up all of his courage and defiance. "What do you want from me then?"

Lousie breathed, deeply, which appeared to calm her down. She looked at him carefully, the same way one does when inspecting a piece of meat at a butcher's shop and deciding whether or not it's worth the money. A small corner of her wrinkled lip curled. She had made some sort of decision.

"Well, you're a special boy Tom. But just how special really? I've watched you over the years and often wondered... Oh, but now I can smell Diagon alley on you, faint as it is now. Now, tell me, what are you?" She asked, her tone of merely polite interest.

Tom wasn't convinced by her tone. He could tell he was about to be manipulated. For one reason or another, nobody had ever been able to lie to him. He could see on their faces, they wore lies like glittery masks that Tom never missed.

"What am I?" He asked, confused and frightened at the same time.

"Yes! What bloody hell are you? Wizard, muggle, _squib_..." The old woman snapped.

"What's it to you? You just want to use me for something, don't you?" Tom stammered. He cleared his throat and said as confidently as a seven year old ever could, "I'll tell you this though, I don't think I'm a squid."

Lousie gritted her teeth. "Squib! I'm a _squib_! Not a _squid_, stupid boy! The title is already an insult, so the most you could do is pronounce it correctly!" She roared.

Tom was grateful that she didn't have any power like he did, because if she did, he would be dead. Lousie scowled at him venomously.

Before he could say another word, the matron burst through the doors. Lousie's glare didn't falter a bit, even with Mrs. Cole's presence.

"Oh, sorry to intrude." She started sincerely, Tom noted the lack of dryness usually associated with the matron. "But I have good news." Sh said, this time with a smile. Lousie grunted disapprovingly.

"Even so Mrs. Cole, he is not done here, but as soon as that happens I will-" The old woman started.

"Oh, but he is Ms. Smith. I've dismissed him from all of the punishments he's been given." Mrs. Cole said sternly.

"Why?" Tom blurted out. It wasn't everyday that the matron was this merciful to him.

She turned to him, beaming. "Your father has come for you, Tom."

"My _what_?!" Tom demanded, and hoped that she was mistaken. Instantly, the image of a nicely dressed man with stain on his suit came to mind, and Tom shuddered. He also remembered the woman, who promised that they'd meet again.

The matron's mood darkened. "Your father. Oh, and your grandparents too."

"How do you know if-" He began.

"Oh, I know. Just having one look at the man and I know. Very handsome. Charming too, I suppose. Rich. Not what I expected from your family, but I suppose it's just sheer dumb luck." She said. The matron left a few other characteristics out, such as cold, snobbish, and unhappy. Aside from the snobbishness, the matron saw the man as Tom's very reflection.

She lead Tom out of the kitchens and gave him a new clean set of clothes, as if to make the family more likely to relieve her of Tom. She also allowed him to halfway fill a duffle bag with his belongings, which weren't entirely his in the first place. The matron then lead him to the hallway near her office, where Tom saw three looming figures inside. She motioned for him to stop, as she entered her office alone.

As he stood, Tom noticed children piling into the hallway. One by one the orphans crowded by Mrs. Cole's office, enticed by possible adopters. He heard mummers and whispers among them, but no one spoke any louder then that.

Suddenly, the three figures emerged, and his heart sunk. The vicious young man. The elderly man. The mysteriously kind old woman. There they were. The children behind him snickered. Tom turned around, red faced, and glared. A boy his age, Charlie, was the first to taunt.

"Hey, Riddle, is that your daddy over there?" He laughed. The others soon joined in.

"No! But Charlie, I do believe that _she,_" He motioned toward the old woman. "is your mum. Don't you see the resemblance?"

Apparently, that comment was immature enough to understand, for it made the other children previously laughing at Tom turn on Charlie.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! She is not!" Charlie yelled at giggling orphans surrounding him.

Just as Tom was beginning to enjoy himself, he saw a large boy part the crowd. Crum. He frowned.

"Hey, maybe she is Charlie's mum, but at least she's prettier than yours was Tom."

The crowd of orphans gasped and some laughed even harder, and Richard continued.

"Then again, how would I know how ugly your mum was? She's dead now, isn't she Tom?" He pressed on, licking his lips and savoring his insults.

Tom's hands clenched, and he looked up to the man who was supposedly his father. The man was staring at him too, but quickly looked away. His chest rose up and down as his breathing got heavier. Richard looked at him invitingly, encouraging him to confrontation. As he breathed, he felt a metallic something beat against his thin chest. Tom shoved his hand out to grab it and realized just what it was. Richard's locket. His, now.

His breathing slowed, and he eventually calmed. Tom next pulled the locket out from beneath his shirt and placed it right on top of it, where it was quite visible for everyone to see. He smiled deviously and stood absolutely still as the others admired his new locket. As he listened, he heard disembodied voices that said many things which included:

_"Where on earth did he get one of those..."_

_"It's pretty and shiny...Must be worth..."_

_"He probably stole it..."_

_"A bug flew into my mouth!...Ewww..."_

_"It looks a lot like Richard's..." _

_"Bugs don't taste good..."_

_"I wish I had a locket like that..."_

"_Theif_..." Crum spat. The others didn't seem to hear him, as their conversations had wandered elsewhere by then.

Tom inched closer to the boy, now fondly stroking his prize. "Don't you worry Richard. I'll be back soon enough." He said coldly.

Richard said nothing, but his face had the lovely ability to express itself anyway. It turned from light pink, fuchsia, dull red, and finally to an almost tomato red sort of color. A short and awkward laugh escaped him, turning a few heads within the crowd. But he didn't care. He was going to live in a mansion and they were not. Granted that the people who he was to live with were probably terrible, but still, a mansion is still a mansion, even though he was sure that by the end of the month he would get himself thrown back in this place.

He wondered if the matron knew that, and if so, why she was so happy to be rid of him when he would just be back within no time at all. He would have pondered this question further, if Mrs. Cole and the three people hadn't of plowed their way through the crowed toward him. Tom's smile slipped away, his lips forming a straight emotionless line.

As she strode past the other children, Tom heard Mrs. Cole mutter something along the lines of 'out of my way' and 'shoo' to them. When they reached him, Tom's dark eyes were on the ground. The matron started speaking.

"So, here he is! Handsome isn't he?" She told them, sweetly. Tom was sure it was all an act, but then again it didn't really matter, Mrs. Cole was a very convincing actress. He figured that she must really want him out.

The young man spoke with suspicion. "Is he well behaved? I won't have a hooligan running around my house..."

"Of course he is! In fact, he was just finishing up helping one of our elderly kitchen workers, Lousie in washing the dishes. Sweet lady, that Lousie. He also helps out with laundry too! Oh, and he's good with children as well!" She chattered, with a painted grin on her plain face. The look didn't fit well with her.

The young man in the suit glanced down at a frowning Tom for a moment, and must have instantly saw through her lies. He turned away, an unsatisfied grunt slipping past his perfect teeth. The old woman however, listened intently.

"How kind! A lot of children nowadays don't respect their elders anymore." She said dreamily, and Tom wondered if she knew what child they were talking about.

The old man standing next to them said nothing, but Tom could feel his aged eyes looking him over. Inspecting to see if he was good enough to live wealthy. _Probably not._

"So! Are you taking our Tom? I'll miss him. He'll live happier with you." The matron said encouragingly.

Mrs. Cole squeezed his shoulders and sent him away. He followed the rich people to their expensive looking car, where someone waited outside escorted them in. The driver gave Tom a single glance, and and looked as if he suppressed a few comments about the boy's clothes. Silence filled the air as London blew fast Tom from the window. His fingers felt the seats and he wondered if they were made of leather. He quickly stole a look at his father, who was sitting in the back seat most farthest from him. The man didn't meet his eyes. Twenty more minutes of silence passed. That was of course, until who he assumed was his grandmother broke the quietness.

"Are you hungry dear?" She asked, turning her head from the front seat.

The man sitting almost next to him replied simply, "No, Mother."

"I wasn't asking you, Tom. I was asking the boy. " The old woman said. "But you could eat if you'd like." She added.

Suddenly, all eyes were on him, apart from the driver's. He felt cornered, and his father's subtle glare wasn't helping.

"Ummm..." Tom said dumbly.

"He's _fine_ Mother. We must go straight home." His father said firmly.

"How would you know? Look! Just skin and bones! What did they feed you there child? Potato skins? From now on you will have proper meals. We should stop and order something special." She declared.

The old man said nothing still, but Tom was sure he could see a smirk creeping between his lips before he turned his head forward.

"No, mother. We have food at home. There's no need for that." The man's tone was a mixture of dismissal and irritation.

The old woman huffed and turned her head back to the front. Tom looked and saw that his father was occupying himself with the newspaper. Tom squinted, and from where he was could read the front of the paper. Something about the queen. Another article was about dog shows. Tom somehow figured that the side where his father was reading had something to do with business or money. As he leaned in closer, his father seemed to notice and quickly folded the paper in half and set it in his lap.

Tom leaned back to his own seat, and let his eyelids slip over his vision. He wondered if these people are really that terrible as he thought, as the old lady didn't seem to despise him just yet. She had been kind, and generous to him so far. The man who was supposed to be his father disdained him. But this feeling was mutual. As for the old man, Tom didn't really know what to make of him yet. He hadn't spoken a word. He wondered if the man was a mute.

As everything began to blur, the thing that upset Tom was the feeling of leaving behind Massak. Would she bother to find him? Would she even be able to? He had so many questions for her about magic. He wanted to visit that place again, Diagon Alley, with its strangeness being so alluring. Most of all, he wanted a friend. Someone to be with him when his father hid away in one of the many rooms of their mansion, and someone to talk to once his abilities are discovered. His last thought before sleep took him was of Massak appearing on the Riddle family front porch, biting his father's leg and slithering onto Tom's arm. His eyes closed completely, and he was asleep.


End file.
